Silly Ruler Waving
by Horace Nihil
Summary: Hermione Granger is fifteen, sixteen in a few weeks. She has this summer job in the local library she loves, but something is amiss. Why does she spend so much time waving things, like this ruler, in such a silly way ?
1. Silly Ruler Waving

Ye olde almost forgotten standard disclaimer :

_**I Horace**__** Nihil, hereby state that not being J., do not own the Harry Potter Universe, and all related characters, décors and such. This story is posted for fun and without intend to any Copyright infringement. So mote it be. **_

Chapter 1 - Silly Ruler Waving.

It was Thursday afternoon, and the fifteen year ( plus ten months) old girl had complied with the daily routine initiated since the beginning of the summer vacation, riding her bike for half a mile to the local library where she would assist the librarians in handling various groups of young readers. Depending on the audience, she would read stories aloud, help older kids to choose books, or teach the basics of reading to the youngest.

The latter was her favourite.

She had been unable to pinpoint why she enjoyed this so much. At first, she thought it was the joy of introducing the children to the unlimited pleasures of reading. Lighting the drive to learn, to be able to harvest the unlimited fields of knowledge, fantasy, feed their imagination…But she realised after a while that there was something more tangible.

It was the ruler.

She had found an old ruler, made of dark wood, square gauged, forgotten in a box of junk and had taken the habit of using it to show letters and pictures on the board. The ruler fitted amazingly well in her hand, and she had made a habit of keeping it close all the time. It had grown as a joke in the library, people stating that it was her teacher's uniform, to distinguish herself from the average teenager. The manager had even commented on the object, quite a rare artefact, without real monetary value : while most of those rulers where made out of beech or oak, sometimes ebony, this one had been manufactured from vine wood.

So, she was there, watching the children draw little scenes and copying letters, holding the ruler in her fingers and tapping it rhythmically on her thigh, daydreaming. She was considering her life, the perspective of her GSCEs, A-Levels and the following years in University. She was thrilled, of course, about the prospect of learning new things, feeding her seemingly insatiable thirst for knowledge, but on another hand, she was troubled.

She was troubled, because once again, she was unable to pinpoint why she was feeling wrong. Something was odd, unfitting and she could not figure it out to save her life.

And unfortunately, she had the nagging feeling that her life could depend on it.

She was pondering those statements when a marker pen fell on the floor and rolled under a bookshelf, she waved the ruler in the overall direction, and a word got caught in her throat, like an order, sharp and precise, but she could not voice it.

She shrugged and picked the marker pen by hand.

"What were you expecting? Order it to jump into your hand by magic ?" she growled.

Although the remainder of the afternoon was uneventful, she grew more and more annoyed by her incessant fidgeting with the ruler. In fact, she was constantly fidgeting with anything resembling a stick: it could be a pencil, a twig in the garden, even the car's radio antenna she had to unscrew at the car wash. She would surprise herself with drawing figures in the air, meaningless at first sight, but those gestures were very precise, like they had been rehearsed many times. What puzzled her that they seemed incomplete, empty. She had the feeling they had a purpose, but without intent, it was just silly ruler waving.

She was quite in a state when she left the library, without lingering between the shelves once the place had been cleaned up after the kids. She picked her bike, oblivious to the delightful weather of the summer day, and pedalled aggressively, without a glance at the blooming gardens, barely avoiding a dog, a bus and a fall on a slippery turn. She was in her room in a confused state when she noticed she had slipped the ruler into her bag.

She sighed heavily and growled in frustration.

"Hermione Granger, you're…"

"Hermione !" cut a voice in the hallway.

"Up there, mum !"

"You're going to be late for your appointment !"

"My ap…oh, gosh !"

She scrambled to her feet, grabbed fresh clothes, dashed into the bathroom for one of her shortest showers ever and joined her mother.

"What's with you, dear ? You're usually much more focused ! Is your job so tiring ?"

"No, mum." she replied, following her mother towards the car. "It's just, I don't know, I'm just bothered."

Mrs Granger didn't answer, as she drove out of the alley. "Like something is out there I can't figure out. It's annoying…"

The ride was short, and they hurried to the medical centre where she was due for a check-up with her gynaecologist. It was just a routine check, so when after a few minutes into the examination, she caught a glimpse of a frown and a questioning look by the usually kind doctor, she just frowned back.

"Something wrong ?"

"Not at all, everything is in order." huffed the woman. "But it's not fully worth coming here if you retain information. I won't tell your mother unless you want me to."

"Tell her what ?"

The woman shrugged dismissively and, while adjusting her clothes, Hermione caught a glimpse of the computer screen, where had been entered a comment that startled her. She could not take her eyes away from the text in green letters on a black background, oblivious to the talk delivered by the woman on the value of trust in patient-doctor relationship.

_Sexually active._

It was very late in the night, or even early in the morning, when an uneasy sleep eventually came, after hours pondering the fact. Of course, she was, at some point, _sexually active_. No more, no less than the average teen. But to be able to be defined as such by a gynaecologist, it meant that…that she was no longer a virgin, and, well…you are supposed to be aware of the fact, aren't you ? And she was not. Honestly. _I don't even know a boy worth a try…_

So the only plausible scenario was a rape under GHB. That would explain the weird sense of inadequacy, the unfitting memories.

But not those obsessing gestures with anything resembling a stick.

Unless it was a call for help of sorts, some post traumatic disorder.

She was lost.

Or was she merely barking mad ?

-x-

"Hermione !"

She jumped, startled by the call of the yoga teacher, losing the precarious balance of her position.

"That won't do, Hermione. I don't know where your mind is, but it's not here. What's the matter with you today, dear, you're not your usual self ?"

"I…" she stammered. "I have a lot on my mind, Ayesha. A hard time focusing properly"

"I can see that" replied the teacher, before adding, on a kinder tone, "Will you tell me ?"

Hermione stayed silent for a while, before nodding, unable to trust her voice.

"I think…I'm afraid that…". She paused, biting her lower lip to stop the trembling. "I think I might have been raped" she whispered. Then after a minute or so, went on : "I saw my gyno yesterday. She said I was _sexually active_, scolded me because I did not tell her. I was so shocked I did not deny it, but I don't remember, I can't remember, and I…there are plenty of things I don't understand…It might be GHB, you know, but I don't even remember going to a party where I could have been dosed…"

And she began to cry, silently at first, before giving in a full scale bawl.

The teacher observed her intensely, with a sense of dread.

"Lie down, Hermione. Flat on your back. Close your eyes, and focus on the places where your body is in contact with the mat. Just the contact. Hands flat on the mat."

Then, she positioned herself behind Hermione's head.

Hermione Granger. The name had rang a bell when the girl had came for the first time a couple of weeks ago with her mother, and it suddenly clicked. She had heard it from one of her twin nieces, Parvati.

"GHB my arse." she whispered, discretely pulling eleven inches of Willow and waving it towards the girl with a muttered phrase in Hindi. Her eyebrows shot upwards at the results. If this girl was who she thought she was, she should radiate magic far above the near-squib level her scan was showing. Another couple of diagnostic charms confirmed her guess.

"GHB my arse, indeed."

That was a massive memory charm if she had ever seen one. So massive that it should have reduced her to a vegetable, unless the girl was who she thought she was, the brightest witch of her age with the appropriate mind and willpower.

She pondered the situation for a couple minutes, until she noticed that Hermione's breathing was now peaceful, regular.

"At least, she managed to relax." whispered the teacher, with a sad smile towards the sleeping teen. Then, she tried to sort things out. Hermione Granger, of course. She had been the target of a rather nasty slander campaign a few months ago for her alleged role in some "love triangle" of sorts with the world famous Victor Krum and Harry Potter, the no less famous Dark Lord Vanquisher. It was public knowledge that she was one of the Boy Who Lived's closest friends, the closest according to Parvati, the only one according to her sister Padma. The girl was pictured by Padma as an astounding combination of skills, dedication, intelligence and with quite a bunch of magical power.

Then, she tried to recollect what she knew of Hermione's parents. Both Dentists, managing a practice in the neighbourhood. They were pleasant people, she had been introduced to Hermione's mother by a mutual friend, who happened to be an American wizard. The perfect guy for the job.

"Maybe it's time to make a long-distance phone call…" she said out loud.

-x-

Hermione was sitting cross-legged on a mat in her bedroom, in front of a lit candle. A few days had passed since the talk with Ayesha and, while she had kept her job at the library, she was working very hard on mind exercises and relaxation. _Working hard on relaxation, that can apply to nobody but me ! _

She breathed slowly, focusing on the little flickering flame, enthralling herself in the tiniest details. After an undefined time - it could have been minutes or hours, she'd been unable to tell and that was the very purpose of focusing on it - she lost sight of the candle, her conscience drifting slowly inwards.

And suddenly, she found herself in an undecipherable landscape, a whirlwind of images and feelings. The dominant feeling was oppression, akin to being forced into a rubber costume many sizes too small. She thought of some sex fantasy involving latex clothing - if clothing was an applicable word - and chuckled mentally, breaking her concentration and bringing the candle back in sight.

"This is not going to be quick." she muttered.

It was the seventh time this morning that, after minutes of meditation, she had managed to catch a glimpse of this feeling before being pushed away, as if her mind itself would prevent any effort towards a more complete introspection. She checked the time, extinguished the candle and stood up.

She had been spending time like this for days now, but she hadn't made any real progress.

Today was an off-day at the library. She made herself a quick lunch before watching a movie on the TV, delaying till later the chore of giving another go at her mediation.

Having consumed her allotted share of slacking, she chose to try it outdoors, in a secluded spot of the garden, and she brought a purse the teacher had given her as the ultimate weapon.

After setting the mat, undressing to a short and a bikini top - at least, she would get a bit of a tan from the exercise - she pulled a little piece of blotter from a cellophane wrapping and slid it under her tongue, before focusing on a single leaf.

She wondered if it was the _idea _of the chemical help - it was supposed to have a delayed effect - but she lost the leaf faster than anything else before, and was met with the rubber oppression, but before being distracted by the weird qualification, she felt the pull of something. She was tempted to analyse it but the idea was swept away and she suddenly found herself trying to force her way through the rubber. She vaguely thought it was the chemicals, but she could not care anymore, even if she was aware of the terrifying idea of being suffocated to death in a giant condom. _I just have to keep pushing until I tear it apart. _So she pushed.

She could catch images distorted by the translucent material : unicorns, flying horses, winged lions, giants and dwarves, and faces. Most of all faces. Friendly faces. Fantasies. _Wow. This acid is strong._ Even a…dragon ? And Mermaids. Ugly ones, by the way.

_By all that's Holly…_Now, she was freaking out, trapped in these visions. But some of those faces were really friendly. And somehow familiar, so familiar she could almost put names on them, and the warm feeling was balancing the angst. And there was something else. Something just there, just beyond the thin material. It was her hand, holding a quill.

_I never wrote with a quill! _The visions she was experimenting were so disturbing to her rational mind that she wanted to scream, to run away…

Her hand. Holding another stick. Waving around. _Swish and flick_.

Not a ruler, but shaped artfully, with characters carved at regular places. The grain of the wood was unmistakable. Vine wood.

Vine wood and Dragon Heartstring, a flow of golden and blue sparks in a dusty shop.

And the rubber broke, thrusting her in front of a tidal wave of images, sounds, scenes, smells.

She watched, horrified, something unbelievable unrolling in front of her.

Her life.

_Watch the bookworm ! _

The bullies in school.

_Look at the Beaver !_

Ah. Of course those happy memories of school time were amiss…

_I most assure you, M__iss Granger, that it is no hoax._

A stern looking woman with a Scottish accent changing into a cat and back in front of her parents.

_No._

Yes, Ravenclaw, of course! Wait. There is something else. Deeper, just waiting to blossom. Courage. A rebellious streak, a will to fight tooth and nail for the loved ones. No more doubt, Miss Granger, it will be… **Gryffindor **!

_That can be._

"It's no wonder no one can stand her, she's a nightmare, honestly."

_No. It does not make sense._

"Books! And cleverness! There are more important things - friendship and bravery…"

_What the fuck ?_

Wingardium Leviosa. Accio. Expecto Patronum. Protego. Expelliarmus. Reparo. Petrificus Totalus. Lumos. Principal Exceptions to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration…Aguamenti. Lacewing flies stewed 21 days, knotgrass, leeches, powdered bicorn horn, and fluxweed picked at full moon.

_Tell me I'm not barking mad ! Please ?_

Of course, shredded Boomslang skin is rather touchy to find, and of course a bit of who one wants to turn into…

_Please?_

Finite!

_Hermione__, my girl…there is no such thing as magic!_

* * *

_A/N : Edited on January 2nd, after a thorough review by Tumshie. Praises to him !_


	2. Say it again, Sam

_**You know what ? I do not own the Potterverse, just twenty books (1-7, Qtta, FB, tales of B, french and english copies...) but I dare toying with it, without intent to make money or even fame out of it. Everything recognizable likely belongs to Ms. Rowling, praised her imagination. You have now reached the end of the disclaimer, and after yet another set of heartfelt thanks to Tumshie for de-frenching this story, I give you...**_

**Chapter 2 - Say it again, Sam.**

_Oh, Gosh. I hope somebody got the registration of the truck__. Those trucks. Or was it one of those Australian trains ?_

How shall we put this? Hermione was beyond the weather? Nah. A Helluva Hangover, was closer to the truth. Back from a very bad trip, in her opinion, she was pondering the delicate choice of a) staying strictly immobile in the faint hope the world would copy her and stop spinning or b) daring the likely painfully superhuman effort of moving an eyelid a fraction of an inch in order to build a rough assessment of the outer world.

After a while, she decided to play it safe and restrain her awareness to the haptic feedback on her back, the well-known touch of linens over a mattress. A disturbing fact, since her last conscious location was outside in the garden. Then, the hearing. That was good, since this way she could listen and decode sounds, but unfortunately, the room was silent. Just a very tiny something, she could not really decode. A car, some distance away. Gurgling water, maybe a river or a fountain. And wind? Yes, wind.

_Toto, I've a feeling we're not in London anymore._

So eventually, she took a chance in an alternate strategy and stirred softly.

"Welcome back amongst the living, Kitten"

Surprised by the well-known baritone voice, and throwing to the wind any cautiousness, she snapped her eyes open.

"Uncle Sam?"

Not her brightest idea. The morning sun flowing into the room slammed in her stressed optic nerves sending a wave of pain into her brain. She squeezed her eyes shut and slumped in her pillows. She barely heard the slight chuckle, muffled by the headache.

"So you tasted Ayesha's Weapon of Mass Destruction, didn't you?…drink this, Kitten, it should help a lot"

She felt a vial being forced into her hand. She managed to bring it to her lips, and swallowed the contents in a single gulp.

"Ayesha? Like in Ayesha Patil, the Yoga Teacher?" she whispered.

The pain was quickly fading, and she opened her eyes, nodding her thanks. She smiled, recognising the well built man, dark skinned, with long jet black hair tied in a ponytail.

"I see my special hangover draught has not lost efficiency."

"Oh gosh…What was that stuff? And…" regaining her ability to open her eyes without excessive suffering, she examined her surroundings. "Where am I?"

Sam smiled. "We are in Wales, near Llanberis. At this time of the year, the area is full of climbers. Weird people, climbers. You would not believe how easy it is for some magical people to fit in. And Ayesha's stuff was Lysergic Acid."

"LSD?"

"Yup. The LSD allowed you to override the compulsion on your mind and break through the memory charm. It was an excellent guess from Ayesha."

She nodded. "So, I'm a witch. No wonder why I was fascinated with the ruler or any stick…" She snorted, adding "Well, a good thing I never tried to ride a broom to the library."

"Yes, you are a Witch" something in his voice capitalised the word, "And a bright and powerful one. Very few minds would have survived this treatment. It was not a simple _Obliviate_ to wipe out an embarrassing event. Your memory layout was shattered to hide your knowledge, all four years of frenetic magical education, and plant fake things above. You will have to work hard to sort things and regain consistency"

She stayed silent, scanning through her memories, her well organized mind, to check for missing pieces. Everything was there, but she was feeling a void of sorts.

"No, no damage. I've been learning the basics of memory optimisation. But something else is definitively wrong. So, what is it?"

"You feel it?"

"Yeah, or its lack. Something is missing. Can it be…my magic?"

Sam nodded, twitching a corner of his lips in an annoyed smirk.

"Fuck."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Short story, please." She asked, not trusting her voice for a longer sentence.

Sam came closer, sitting on the bed and taking one of Hermione's hand in his large, calloused one, for a surprisingly gentle caress. "A Binding ritual. Reversible. A bit tricky, it will need a huge amount of energy to dispel, so you'll have to wait for an equinox, at least, and be at a suitable place, a site of magical practices…"

"Like Stonehenge?"

"No, Stonehenge has been weakened by centuries of neglect. I'd recommend Kirkjubaejarklaustur in Iceland or Mount Bego in southern France. But I have another site in mind, far, far away"

She let go a sight. Nodded. After a long silence, she whispered. "Leave me alone, please."

Sam nodded and left.

He closed the door smoothly, sealed it with a wandless spell, and went downstairs to sit loudly on a stone bench outside the house.

"How is she?"

"Herself. Quite."

"I am tempted to raid Hogwarts and blast it to sand. How could they do this to us, Sam? To her? Why?"

Sam squeezed Hermione's father's shoulder. "My guess is that she interfered with some high level plans. Ayesha told me she is the closest friend of their Boy Who Lived." he said, drawing imaginary quotes in the air around the last three words.

"The Boy Who Lived? That's her friend Harry, isn't it?"

"Himself. Maybe they were slowly drifting beyond friendship and they" another set of imaginary quotes "decided to wipe her from the whole picture…I wonder why they left her alive. It would have been much easier to kill her. This twisted planning is typical Dumbledore. Never takes a life, just destroys it…" He grabbed a pebble and threw it in the stream.

"We'll sort that out. We've always sorted those things, man. Since then. She must have been a thorn in their side, but she is...Well, she's _Hermione_. Her heart's in the right place, and she will win. Sweat, think, innovate if needed. She'll win. It will not be easy, but I trust her. I felt her…growing dedication to sort this out."

"Who Dares, Wins. Who Sweats, Wins. Who Plans, Wins?"

"_The only easy day was yesterday_, anyway."

"Okay, boys, when you're done showing off your old mottos, you'll come inside and grab a bite?"

"Yes, Ayesha, sir!"

Both men stood up.

"Sam?"

"Yes, Hawkeye?"

Hermione's father stopped in his tracks. "Nobody called me Hawkeye since…"

"…since you smashed the jaw of the idiot who cheered loudly when you blew the head of that unfortunate Argentine sentry in 79 at eight hundred yards with crosswind. Don't pretend you don't ache for a trigger to pull these days?"

"I do. Or maybe some thorough cavity treatment, you know, painkillers denied. But, well, that was not the point. I just wanted to say I'll never thank you enough for what you're doing for us"

"I'm Hermione's godfather, aren't I? We're just lucky Ayesha settled not far from you and put the clues together. If you have to thank someone…"

"He did it a million time so far. Come and eat, guys."

Hermione's father took a seat at his wife's side. She grabbed his hands and squeezed it.

"Come on, _Hawkeye._" She said with a smile, over emphasizing the nickname. "grab a bite"

"Yes, _Hot Lips_ dear."

Hermione's mother scowled and smacked him.

Oblivious to her parent's attempts to lighten the mood with their childish banter, Hermione was slowly collecting her wits. If Uncle Sam was there, it was likely because things were getting ugly. Sam was, as far as she knew, her father's closest friend. In fact, his name was not Sam, but Gaagii, meaning 'Raven' in Navajo. He was a native American, and the unlikely friendship with a British dentist came from the random pairing of Special Forces teams in British-US joint operations.

She also knew he was a wizard. She had learnt that a couple of weeks after McGonagall's introductory visit, when he had came to her room with a present. A book, of course. _A Compendium of Potion Ingredients and Their Interaction Patterns._ She had almost panicked, Statute of Secrecy and all that. He had calmed her with a smile, and told her that not only he was a wizard, but that he had known for years that she was a witch. He even demonstrated that by turning into a raven.

And thinking of raven and wizards…The image of a raven-haired friend of hers came to her mind.

_Oh my god…__Sexually active indeed._

She now remembered vividly, that fateful night after the Triwizard Tournament. She was unable to sleep, so she sneaked out of her dormitory, into the fourth year boy's to pick up an awesome artefact from a trunk. An invisibility cloak, belonging to her friend, Harry. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Must Have Done Something Ugly in a Previous Life to make Fate such a bitch. She had donned the cloak, swiftly disappeared from the eyes of the living. A silencing charm on her feet, she had tiptoed across the castle, and reached the Hospital Wing. Picking the lock of the side door with a hairpin, a trick learned from the Weasley twins, was child's play. As soon as she had stepped inside, she had heard the whimpering behind the curtains surrounding a bed. His bed.

He was crying softly in his sleep, and she had rushed at his side to try and soothe him by gently brushing his forehead, before resorting to cuddling him, drawing circles with her fingers on his chest, eventually waking him.

Startled, he had almost jumped out of reach. Almost. She had grabbed him, pinning him to the bed.

"You're strong" he had whispered.

"Never underestimate the power of the SAS daughter's side" she had whispered.

"Oh? I thought your father was dentist?"

"He is, but before, he was in the SAS. Sniper."

"Scary."

Harry had given in and accepted the embrace.

"Thanks, Hermione. I needed some human warmth."

"I will always be there for you, Harry"

"I wonder if it is a good idea"

"Whatever. I. Love. You. I will always be there for you"

They locked eyes, and Harry began to cry silently.

"I…I love you too, Hermione, you are my best friend"

She had smiled, and pecked his lips. "Silly boy" and kissed him again. And again. And again, until he became responsive and began kissing her back, pouring all his desperation, his fears, into the kisses.

"I _do _love you, Harry" she said.

The moon was lighting Harry's bed like a spotlight. She smiled and detached herself from his embrace, and without further ado, pulled her nightgown over her head, smirking at his flabbergasted face. Too surprised to let the hormones kick in. Well, they eventually had sprung into action, once she had moved on some ministrations that were, hmm…let's say than 'far beyond friendly comfort' is a good estimate - I _do _love you, Harry » she had repeated soothingly, straddling him.

_Sexually active, _indeed.

At least, she had definitely not been raped.

That was the good news.

"Okay, so what now?" she whispered.

She stared for a while at the ceiling, assessing the situation. Memory charmed, magically restrained, and fired from the magical world. Who? Why? She had supported Harry the whole year, and well, she was proud to assert that she had been decisive to his survival. But if her predicament came from the Death Eater agenda, why nobody in Dumbledore camp checked on her yet? But why would Dumbledore condone her banishing? Unless her relationship with Harry was disturbing a greater plan?

"Oh, shit. Dumbledore, playing the Twinkling Manipulative Old Bastard? That would be far fetched"

She left the bed, grabbing a set of clothes waiting for her on a chair and tiptoed towards the bathroom. She stayed a while under the water, until her growling stomach reminded her that lunch time was overdue. She dressed, and slowly made her way downstairs. The house was a bit worn out, likely an old farm revamped in a lodge of sorts, for amateurs of fresh air and wilderness. She paused at a landing, to survey the landscape. Moors and hills, with steep cliffs of dark stone. She noticed a pair of coloured shapes progressing slowly upwards. She resumed her descent and, on the ground floor, followed the echoes of a conversation to the kitchen.

"Kitten! How are you feeling?"

"Fine, dad. I'm just hungry" she replied, sitting heavily on the bench.

She tucked in the plate Ayesha had put in front of her, and ate in an absolute silence for a few minutes until, suddenly aware of the stares of the four adults, she blushed slightly and paused, wiped her lips with a paper napkin and drank a whole glass of clear water.

"So, what now?"

All stares converged towards Sam, who shrugged and looked at Hermione's father.

"Hawkeye?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow to her father, who sighted, scowled, frowned, and eventually spoke.

"I don't know why, but somebody decided to kick you out of the Magical World. Apparently, you were not banished by some authority, since Ayesha could not find any official statement. You just seem to have vanished after leaving the Hogwarts Express."

Hermione interrupted him, and looking to Ayesha, asked, "Ayesha? Are you by chance related to the Parvati and Padma Patil?"

Ayesha nodded. "They are my nieces. After you confessed your doubts, and cried yourself to sleep, I performed a scan and detected the memory charm. Any brain should have fried under such a massive alteration, so I connected the dots and, according to the rumour, there was only one witch strong enough to survive this ordeal"

Hermione blushed under the praise, but Sam cut it, "You were in the process of breaking the charm. It would have taken a few more months, but you would eventually have worn it out. It would have been harder for the magical bindings. And the hard time they would have given you might have rendered you insane."

"So, what is the plan?"

"Someone wanted you to disappear from the landscape. You will just do that. Vanish. Pfft."

"Where?"

"Opening soon in Boulder, Colorado, is a new Dental clinic managed by Wendell and Monica Wilkins" said her father pompously.

"Who the hell are Wendell and Monica…Wilkins?" asked Hermione.

"Hello" said her father, extending his hand across the table. "My name is Wendell Wilkins. Nice to meet you"

"And who am I supposed to be? Tabitha Wilkins? Mary Sue Wilkins? No, wait : Pamela Ann Wilkins?"

"Nah, you sound too British for this one. What about Samantha?"

"Are you shitting me?"

"Sabrina?"

Hermione shrugged. Then, giving in, said tentatively, "Sophie…"

"Sophie?"

"Yeah. Why not Sophie?"

"Sophie Wilkins." Said her mother. "Nice to meet you Sophie, my name is Miranda Wilkins"

"Monica" corrected Sam.

Hermione smiled without enthusiasm, before asking, "And what is Sophie Wilkins supposed to do?"

"Why, learn Magic, of course. You're a witch, after all. You'll just resume you education across the Pond"

"Is there a school of witchcraft in Boulder?"

"No. There are four schools in America. Salem, of course, another one in Squamish, north of Vancouver. I would not recommend those two since their headmasters are close buddies of Albus Dumbledore. Then, there is Great Lakes, in Illinois. The headmistress is rather okay. But I would incline towards the smallest of all, Moab."

"Moab?"

"Moab, Utah. On the edge of the Grand Canyon."

"Let me guess, that's more or less the Navajo land, isn't it? You were schooled in Moab."

Sam nodded. "Moab hosts all the misfits of American magic. Natives from Alaska to Cape Horn. Asians. Hawaiians. This one is for you. You would not only learn Magic, but Magics. Those of the Early practitioners, Incas, Aztecs, Anasazi…"

She shook her head. "But I've lost everything!" she huffed. "My books, my notes…my wand!"

"But don't you have committed everything in your formidable memory?"

She smiled slightly, shrugged.

"Good!" said Sam, clapping his hands. "I've already sent an email to Melissa Hawthorne, the Head out there, to test how things might go. She's quite thrilled to enrol you. It looks like she heard from one Transfiguration Teacher about a brilliant Muggleborn witch a couple years ago…It would be fitting for you to settle in Moab by the end of July, three weeks from now"

Hermione nodded, and asked, "And in the meantime?"

"In the meantime? You will work on your weak points. Muggle science and fitness. If you want to fight back, you'll have to be able to switch to warrior mode. This way, you will not stand out if people see you running and climbing around."

"Climbing?" she whispered.

"Yes. Balance, coordination, strength. Very good. And we're in one of the best place in the

Isles".

She made a face. "Is climbing mandatory in Moab?"

Sam chuckled. "No, the only mandatory thing is dedication and intelligence. And an open mind"

"Open mind?"

"I'll spare you the surprise of the differences between Western Magic, moreover British, and anywhere else in the world. One of them is, as you'll soon find out, many don't rely on spells and magic, but seek a larger picture where the world is less binary than you've been taught. There is an infinite scale of shades between, as a pureblood would say, the white of magic and the black of Muggle. All those subtleties need a better grasp of the larger picture"

"And there" cut Ayesha, "your current predicament becomes a blessing"

Hermione looked at her questioningly, while the Yoga Teacher was putting a soothing hand on her arm. Upon the touch, she felt some kind of…vibration? like a very light electric shock, and her eyes lit with understatement.

"You mean, with my magic restrained, it is…sort of…silenced? Like…I the car's engine is off, so I can hear the noise of the wheels on the gravel?"

"Nice analogy" replied Sam. "I want you to cut with your habits of over abstraction, which is, we all know, your forte. I want you to grow more instinctual, more physical. Then, you'll get a better grasp on your magic when it comes back. Today, we'll go out for a nice hike, and tomorrow, a run first thing in the morning. It's also a great opportunity to tone your body without the help of magic"

They all stayed silent for a long time. Suddenly, Hermione asked, "And what about Crookshanks?"

They all exchanged stares, and there were powerless shrugs.

Then, Hermione's mother broke the silence, "I'd like to know who is the slimy little shit, twinkle-toed cocksucker down here who just signed his own death warrant messing with my baby girl's pet!"

"Mum!"

-x-

Somewhere in Devon, a mammal loosely related to Felix Domesticus - a kind of cat - was chasing garden gnomes. He suddenly paused, his body language expressing surprise and annoyance. Surprise because he had became aware without any notice, of a very faint presence, a presence he had been denied for a while.

And that was annoying. With a flick of his paw, he swatted away a careless gnome who slumped against a low wall, bleeding from three deep gashes, and trotted away, his tail swaying menacingly.

-x-

The next days passed painstakingly. Hermione did enjoy the tracks, was surprised by the fun that rock climbing was, the adrenaline rush of the difficult moves and the delicate work on her balance. But the remaining fitness training was hard, and she began to despise the name of one Patricia Deuster, the editor of The Navy SEAL Physical Fitness Guide which had replaced "Hogwarts : A History" as her reference book, even if it was a Xerox of a draft of the book obtained by Sam through his contacts in the Navy.

And as a light reading, she also engrossed herself in Muggle course books, mostly maths and physics.

She would sometimes suffer through bouts of angst. She would think of her friends, wondering what they had been told of her fate. They could consider her as dead, or worse, expelled, or even more painful, having fled. She would also panic, wondering if her magic could be restored to work at its previous level, if her knowledge was really intact. Sam and her parents had definitely refused to provide her with any magic book, for fear of being discovered, and one evening, Sam and Ayesha began quizzing her on the whole Hogwarts curriculum in order to prove her wrong.

"I told you everything would be committed to memory by this formidable brain of yours!" eventually declared Sam.

Hermione stayed silent, thinking hard, pressed by a thought, triggered by a unlikely set of circumstances. Then, a smile slowly spread on her face. Neither her usual caring smile, nor the mischievous one, but a rather upsetting feral grin.

"Yeah, everything is committed to memory. And even a juicy detail I caught on Dumbledore's desk before blanking out"

"Which detail?"

"_The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London."_

* * *

A few Notes

(1) _Hawkeye _and _Hot Lips _are of course inspired by **M.A.S.H.** (Robert Altman's movie). You are now free to picture Hermione's parents as Donald Sutherland and Sally Kellerman.

(2) _Sophie _and « _Great Lakes _» come straight from **Bellerophon30**'s « **The Brave New World **», one of the first novel-length fanfics I ever read. Worth this small tribute, even if the story is far from my favs, because Hermione takes too many punches for my liking, and HP characterization suffers from a bad case of Harry-Sue, Imho. This said, I hope "my" Hermione will not come out too Marysueish…

(3) The flowery wording of Hermione's mother outburst is heavily inspired by one of Sergeant Hartman lines in Stanley Kubrick's "**Full Metal Jacket**". A great source of inspiration in this field.

(4) The Navy SEAL Physical Fitness Guide was published in 1997, and this part of the story takes place in the summer of 1995. In fanfiction, there's "fiction", eh eh.

(5) **Plot weakness alert**: Hermione can have the knowledge of Grimmauld Place since Dumbles "accidentally" shows her the secret. Canonically, she should not be able to tell anyone. In fanfiction, there's "fiction", take two (recursive).


	3. Get your kicks

**Disclaimer : Before letting you (hopefully) enjoy the third chapter of this story, let me remind you that anything recognisable, from Thelma Dickinson to Kokopelli including some key characters of the Potterverser are part of this musing for the sake of fun, improving my english and trying to find new ways to mess with J.K.R.'s creation. No Copyright infringment is intended, no money made, nothing, I , so now, here is **:

Chapter 3 – Get your kicks

"Welcome to America, Miss Wilkins. I wish you a pleasant school year."

"Thank you sir, I look forward to it."

Hermione carefully stored her stamped passport in the inner pocket of her jacket, shouldered her bag and walked away from the immigration. She retrieved her suitcase at the delivery point, gave her last form to Customs and followed the crowd towards the exit. It was night time, rather late since her connecting flight in Boston had been delayed, but the heat nonetheless seized her as soon as she made a step outside the airport building. Phoenix was experiencing a heat wave and she found herself drenched in sweat in a few seconds. She almost missed the young woman with long dark hair and dark skin waving a sign with her new identity on it.

"Hello, I'm Sophie Wilkins"

"Tanita Spring, welcome to America. Let me help you…"

"I'm fine, Tanita. Been sitting trapped in a plane seat twice for six hours, I can use some exercise." She replied with a smile.

"Okay. Follow me, then."

Hermione followed Tanita for a few minutes along a never-ending row of parking lots, chatting inconsequentially about air travel, time zones and heat waves and British summers and such, until they stopped in front of a truck, obviously recently washed, and to all appearances in good condition, even if far from brand new. She thanked the three weeks of physical training imposed by Sam in Wales. She would have been out of breath, following the young woman's fast pace.

A few minutes later, they were heading north on a freeway.

"We'll drive out of the Phoenix area, and we'll sleep somewhere higher, away from this furnace"

"Hmmm" replied Hermione, who had a hard time preventing herself from dozing off.

"Tired, hey? I've been driving all day from San Diego myself; I could use a shower and a bed"

"Yes, sorry about that. I can't keep my eyes open. How long is the trip?"

"The direct route would be 450 miles, a good ten hour drive. We'd rather not portkey or apparate from Phoenix in order to avoid any magical traces. And I'm pretty sure you'll like the tourist way. One should always have their little own road movie when coming to America."

Hermione nodded, smiling.

"So, if you're up to it, we'll do some sightseeing, a detour by the Grand Canyon, Cameron, we'll spend another night in Kayenta. Then Monument Valley... at Bluff, we'll head north to reach Moab for dinner in two days."

Tanita shot a glance sideways, and smiled. She was pretty sure she'd have to explain the route again, once the girl was a bit more alert.

Hermione was jerked awake when the engine stopped. They were in front of a nondescript motel, on the side of a dirt road, sparsely lit by a few yellowish bulbs. She stretched and jumped out of the car.

"Where are we?"

Tanita shrugged. "In the middle of nowhere, just a bit farther"

She nodded, grabbed her bag and her suitcase, conveniently lighter than they were before and followed her driver into a room.

"I'll let you have the honours of the first shower"

"Thanks" replied Hermione.

"Wait for the lack of snakes before thanking me"

Feeling suddenly less confident, Hermione grabbed a long T-Shirt and headed to the bathroom. She chased a lost lizard in lieu of snakes - not a complaint, mind you - and after a quick shower, had just time to make it to the bed before…waking. A pale light was just lighting the east. She checked her watch. Four in the morning.

She tiptoed to the bathroom, dressed in silence and went out as quietly as possible.

"Wow…"

Bright stars were shining in the darkest side of the sky. The desert was silent, there was not a sound, only her feet on the dirt. She closed her eyes, expanding her senses. She found that, as Sam had said, the desert was a perfect place for meditation. Even if a wand would barely respond to her, she was now able to passively feel the ambient magic. It was a thrilling sensation; she had experienced it for the first time that evening in Wales, when Sam had taken her on a tourist trip on his bike. She had at first wondered where the idea came from, even sulked while shaken on the uncomfortable saddle. She had dismounted begrudgingly in the middle of a silent, cosy village, a few streets lined with cottages, all radiating from a centre around a church, a small town hall, a pub, a grocery store and a war memorial. She had pulled her helmet off, taken a deep breath of country air and suddenly frowned.

"There is…" she had whispered. "I _feel_ something…like a…pressure? No…Energy. That's…weird"

Sam had tied the helmets to the bike and motioned her to follow. Her unease had grown as she came closer to the church, until she suddenly shrieked and jumped away from the war memorial.

Partly because it was radiating the weird energy she was feeling, and most of all because it was no longer an obelisk covered in names and dates, but the statue of a couple holding a smiling baby with unruly hair, and a scar-free forehead. Unable to hold back the flow of tears, she spun on her heels and slapped Sam across the face, sending him tumbling backwards.

"Is that your idea of a nice surprise, you son of a bitch?"

She dropped on her knees and cried. She didn't know why she was crying, exactly, for her losses, for Harry's, for the unfairness of the whole, the "life-sucks-and-then-you-die" motto. She just cried. She cried until her brain, probably bored by her complacency in despair, was side tracked and realized that this weird feeling she had since they had set foot in Godric's Hollow was the ambient magic.

-x-

Now, in this deserted place in Arizona, she could feel the presence of little animals over the faint radiation of the sparse vegetation, and even this already familiar presence coming close behind her.

"Hello, Tanita" she said, without looking.

"Well spotted, Sophie. You'd be a good hunter"

"I felt you. Your magic, I guess" she stated, turning to face Tanita, who just nodded in acknowledgement.

After a few minutes of silence, the Native girl spoke, "We could pack and hit the road now, if you want. I know a cosy place for breakfast up north. Are you up for playing tourist?"

"Why not…" shrugged Hermione.

Ten minutes later, the SUV was on the dirt track, then back on a larger road, and eventually on the Interstate. Tanita drove westwards for a few miles after sunrise, and then left the freeway.

Hermione chuckled upon seeing a road sign. "Route 66?"

"You were up to playing tourist, weren't you?"

They ended up in a somewhat vintage looking town, in a vintage looking café, framed by half a dozen vintage Chevys with a plate of cinnamon rolls and two mugs of some liquid, vaguely dosed with caffeine. A vintage juke box was playing vintage Rock 'n' Roll in a corner. Half of the café was dedicated to vintage looking trinkets of all nature - more or less genuine, for Hermione's great fun.

"This place is so clichéd, it's lovely"

"I rather like it" replied Tanita "it's a dreamland of sorts. It reminds the average white American of a late golden age. Even Natives like me can board this ship, even if it was a rather dark age for most of us."

Hermione tilted her head, frowned and asked, "You said _Native_. Adding witchcraft, how do you define yourself?"

"I'm a woman, a magic user, an American from Navajo ancestry. My roots are deep in this Land, but I blend easily in my generation. On a day to day basis, I'm the average American Teen. My father was likely the first to try to be an American. He served in the Army, he was one of the youngest code talkers in WWII."

"Oh, yes, I remember. Those men the army hired to code messages using the Navajo language?"

"Yeah, roughly. Well, the army funded his studies. Princeton, no less. He worked hard for the advancement of minorities, natives mostly, but he even helped Martin Luther King. I'm his youngest child."

"Was he a wizard?"

"No. My mum was."

"Was. Is she…"

"She died from a snake bite in an experiment gone wrong"

"Oh."

"Yeah, Oh."

Tanita swallowed the remaining of the roll in her plate and washed it with her coffee. The waitress came and refilled it. She thanked her with a smile and said, "To complete the story, dad died in a car crash caused by my drunk brother. I was seven. I lived with my uncle, Gagii, well more with his mother Grace."

"Gagii? You're Uncle Sam's niece? I…He didn't tell me! Well, he's not my uncle, technically, but… we are…cousins of sorts, aren't we?"

Tanita smiled. "Yes I know. Well, in fact, we would be sisters…er, godsisters, like"

Hermione beamed.

"That's wicked. Thanks, I've often dreamt of having an older sister" She gestured to the décor "And thanks for the detour"

"You're very welcome. We'll head to the Canyon once you're set"

"Let's hit the road, then!"

They exited the café and wandered aimlessly in Main Street, commenting on the various shops and cafés, the old cars, some with dented and rusted bodies, some in pristine condition, all claiming that Seligman was the place for a "return to the 50's", with life-size cardboard effigies of emblematical characters of these years.

After a last photo beside James Dean, Hermione jumped in the truck. Tying her hair with a bandana, while Tanita was pulling the vehicle swiftly between buses, RVs and rental cars, she suddenly started laughing foolishly. "Oh, god! I suddenly feel like Thelma Dickinson!"

Tanita replied with loud rock 'n' roll from the car CD player.

-x-

A strong wind was blowing atop the south ridge of the Grand Canyon. They were leaning on the parapet, examining the heights.

"Next time, we'll bring brooms. A good disillusionment charm and voilà. Far more exciting than the usual trip in helicopter."

Hermione scowled. "I'm not confident on a broom"

"Oh" Tanita shrugged. "Well, I promise it's worth the effort. There are secluded Canyons upstream of Moab where Broom riding is a lot of fun"

She reluctantly stated she might give it a go. After all, Sam had dragged her onto the cliffs around Llanberis, and she had spent three week barely hanging by the tip of her fingers and sometimes of a rope, and she was somehow familiar with heights. In fact, looking downwards from the edge of the Canyon was not frightening. Not at all.

"Yeah" she eventually granted, "It might be worth the effort"

They wandered a bit, hopping from viewpoint to viewpoint, commenting on the view, on a couple deer passing by, observing the squirrels – and stating that the rhyme with scoundrel was not a coincidence, after chasing a bold one from Tanita's backpack . Tanita lectured on geology in the canyon area, and Hermione eventually felt asleep on the route 160 (East) to wake up on a parking lot.

"Welcome to Kayenta".

She blinked, rubbed her eyes before looking around. A small town was spreading colourful houses in a slight depression. Two water towers and a Burger King sign were the high points of the place, and in the background, a skyline of mesas, sandstone cliffs with spots of vegetation.

"Lovely"

Tanita raised an eyebrow.

Hermione shrugged.

"Compared to any ex-industrial suburb in the UK, it's rather nice. You don't have a skyline of Mesas in Manchester." She said, pointing to a shape far away.

"You're from Manchester?"

"No, London."

"There's a nice Skyline in London"

"Yeah, but I never lived on the banks of the Thames. A skyline of comfortable houses, neatly trimmed lawns and hedges and expensive car is not an unpleasant view, but not a thrilling one either. At least, you have space here."

They entered a café, where a plump waitress greeted Tanita in a language unknown to Hermione. She made the easy guess it was Navajo.

"Please, Aunt Mary, my friend Sophie does not speak the Language"

"Oh, I'm sorry, my dear. You are her new classmate in this school of hers?"

"Yes, ma'am. Nice to meet you"

"We drove via the Canyon," cut in Tanita, "I'm famished. Can we get your specials?"

When the food arrived, Hermione chuckled. _I wonder what Fleur would think of it, after the fuss she made in Hogwarts_. Thinking of Hogwarts, a shadow crossed her face. She had managed for three weeks to push aside her sorrow, her bitterness and her longing for her friends, and suddenly, facing the very clichés of America in this little diner, the backlash was terrible. She was in America, without any clear prospect of making up for her losses. She muffled a sob in a sip of coke, a very bad idea, ending with soda in her nose and quite a cough.

"Sophie? Are you okay?"

"Sorry, Tanita…" she babbled for a while, a confused explanation mixing heat, jet lag…

"Looks like you're a bit under the weather. Home sickness, maybe?"

"Yeah, might be…" She closed her eyes, pinching hard the bridge of her nose, exhaled deeply, then nodded with a forced smile towards her companion, before picking some pieces of meat from her plate.

"What's this, exactly?"

"Navajo Fajitas. As in Fajitas cooked by Navajos"

She nibbled a bit, some vegetables and some more meat. "Tasty"

"As surprising as it can be?"

"Hey, I was raised in Britain, mind you!"

The quick laugh warmed the atmosphere. "Your aunt was speaking Navajo, wasn't she?"

"Yes. We usually speak Navajo in family. But out of politeness…she speaks excellent English, after all"

"Thanks. I understand how it was used for ciphering during WWII…I don't recognize a single word"

"You might want to start learning. There is an informal workshop on Navajo language at school. It helps to handle some interesting stuff, in old rites. You might have an introduction to it in Magical Writing, but it's just a scrap. The Navajo magical culture saved lot of stuff belonging to the Old People, very difficult, complex, but powerful…You had runes out there, didn't you? So you'll take Advanced M-dub."

"I reckon I will" she replied, before chewing on a mouthful of onions.

"Is she a witch? I mean, your aunt."

Tanita shook her head "MD"

"MD?"

"Magically Disabled. What Brits call a Squib."

Hermione scowled. _I do feel Magically Disabled these days._ The recurrent doubts surfaced again, and she did her best to bury it under the large serving of fajitas.

-x-

Kayenta had many hotels, due to its closeness to Monument Valley, so _blending in_ was not too hard. Too easy, even. They ended in another motel, where a couple young women would attract some attention, driving Tanita to cast a muggle repelling charm at some point.

Hermione was a bit startled when she saw the wand out, before all her reading on Magical America resurfaced. As the teens could get driving licences at sixteen, the magicals were free of all restrictions a lot earlier, twelve actually. And if apparition was restricted to those qualified, you could apply for the licence in third year. Hermione knew she would follow the regular fifth year, although the OWL in the US was more advanced than in Hogwarts. In fact, she had received a copy of the ICW standards and realized that the British OWL requirements were rather far behind. Well, it was not that Britain – understand: Hogwarts – would fail to teach magic, it was more complicated. Both Flitwick and McGonagall were respected in their fields of teaching. Even Snape was a skilled potions master, but aside their three core subjects, the whole Hogwarts curriculum was a joke.

History, Divination, Muggle Studies, even Herbology were far below the standards. Arithmancy did not cover any mundane mathematics, neither physics nor chemistry was taught…and Care of Magical Creatures was a far cry from a decent Biology teaching, whatever the dedication of Rubeus Hagrid. Of course, mundane disciplines were not mandatory, due to an intense lobbying from the Brits, untamed by their leader, one Albus Dumbledore.

So, for the last three weeks, along with a steady fitness regime, Hermione had spent a lot of time catching up on science, and tonight, as Tanita was taking the first slot in the shower, she grabbed a math course for some revision, and managed to stay awake. She took the feat as a promising success.

-x-

Up bright and early the next morning, they grabbed a breakfast at Aunt Mary's before leaving Kayenta. Instead of using her "native" status to enter the park by a quiet place, Tanita chose the main entrance, near the tourist resort. After driving through a fast-filling car park, she sped towards the grand landscape: they were in for a bumpy ride on the dirt road stuffed with pickup trucks carrying tourists across Monument Valley. Hermione was rather enjoying the immersion into the décor of those Wild West Movies. Soon, Tanita diverted from the long procession of vehicles and took a side road.

"Welcome to the Real Monument Valley"

Hermione frowned, watching her surroundings. Sparse vegetation, juniper trees, some cactuses, surrounded by red and white sandstone everywhere.

"What exactly makes it the Real One? Apart from the lack of tourists?"

"Nothing. Or quite. Wait a few minutes" replied Tanita, driving faster for a couple miles.

She eventually stopped at the bottom of a rumble of rocks, topped by an overhanging cliff. She killed the engine and they watched the wind sweep the dirt girls hiked to the bottom of the cliff in silence.

"Here they are" whispered Tanita.

Facing them, a wall was covered with carvings. Pastoral scenes could be recognised, along with more esoteric drawings, and even…

"Aren't those Runes?" asked Hermione, brushing the sandstone with the tip of her fingers. She suddenly frowned and stopped, moving her fingers to and from the rock, feeling tingles of…magic?

She looked at Tanita who had a satisfied smile.

"You feel it?"

"The magic of the place? Hell, yes…"

"That's the Real Monument Valley. A very powerful place. An ancient dwelling of early practitioners. Fifty thousand years of shamanism have impregnated the place"

Hermione nodded, a lone tear rolling on her cheek. Two months since she had really felt Magic so intensely. She tentatively touched the rock, tracing some runes with her fingers, closing her eyes to the feelings, unaware of Tanita's retreating footsteps. She walked the long line of carvings until she felt she was drawn to a secluded place. She had to climb a dihedral for a few feet to reach a niche of sorts, covered with drawings. The feelings were more intense, and suddenly all the world seemed to disappear, for she could not detach her eyes from a cubic stone, lying on a round rock like on a pedestal, as if waiting for her. And on this stone, well visible, was a single sign, the unmistakeable symbolic form of a lightning bolt. Without thinking, she grabbed the stone, and the world exploded.

-x-

It was a rather hot day in Surrey. The outside temperature had been steadily rising since the beginning of the week, and the drought had led to a ban on watering gardens, thus depriving the inhabitants of the relief of some moisture; according to the forecast, things were not due to change for many days.

Among the suffering Englishmen, was one Harry Potter, scrawny as ever, was lying on his rickety bed, his mind wandering aimlessly. Alone with the memories of the previous year, memories dominated by that fateful night, when took place the third and final trial of the Triwizard Tournament, which he had been unwillingly committed to compete in, he was longing for company, and the scarce letters from Ron, not only short in length but above all frustratingly elliptic: can sentences like "We can't say much about you-know-what" or "we're quite busy where we are" be honestly qualify as "news"? And the worst was those so-called news where only from Ron, never by Hermione. Ron always wrote 'we', so Harry assumed both his friends where at the same place, likely The Burrow. But why the cold shoulder from Hermione? After what had happened at school, after her claims? _She must have had second thoughts. Of course. Who could blame her? Voldemort is after my blood, nobody with a grain of sanity can be my girlfriend, unless with a death wish. It's better this way. _

Well, he was doing a poor job of convincing himself. Because thinking of Hermione vividly recalled the image of her naked glory under the moonlight, that night in the hospital wing.

He was desperate to have an explanation of her silence. He needed her so much it was almost painful. But on the other hand, thinking about her – and not _only_ of having sex with her – was his solace, the only way to soothe is mind and balance the constant throbbing of his scar.

And suddenly, he was jerked awake, fully alert, heart pumping faster than ever, driven by an overpowered gut feeling, the agonizing knowledge that somewhere in the world, something had happened, something involving _his_ Hermione, and he was scared like hell.

-x-

There was light. Warmth. The warmth itself was somewhat soothing. Hermione was…Okay. Her curiosity was however piqued by the situation.

Hermione my girl, you're not in Monument Valley anymore.

She was clearly somewhere else, and this place was nowhere. Just light, nothing physical, a mild arousal, and the sound of a flute coming from all directions.

Yeah, Hermione was okay.

Well, after some time, the outline of a place slowly faded into existence, and she was walking. Yes, she was walking in an empty airport terminal. Only one person was standing behind a counter, playing the flute. He was clearly humpbacked, wearing a robe carrying the Gryffindor crest. Coming closer, she noticed a bulge in front of the robe. Hermione frowned while reviewing the symbol : a horny humpbacked flute player…

"Kokopelli?"

The creature stopped playing the flute, and bowed slightly.

"Himself. Well, myself. You did your homework, as usual."

"What the fuck is this place?"

"Oh, just a trick to have a word with you."

"With me?" Hermione was tempted to freak out. Kokopelli was supposed to carry on his back all the unborn babies and give them to women. Even confident in her ability to cast a proper contraceptive charm, she suddenly wondered…

The little god burst out in laughter.

"Oh, no, no, don't be misled, you are not going to bear the Potter heir!" he chuckled. "Well, not immediately".

Hermione raised an eyebrow warily. "Okay, girl, take it easy, for once. You are a nice girl, I just want to help. You know, you are not in Britain anymore, so suspend your disbelief. Feel the life forces and feed on them, grow on them. _Rely _on them. You will find the power, for you are born in the days of Teotleco, the days of the Return of the Gods in the Aztec calendar. It might come handy."

And suddenly, he was holding the stone in his hand. He considered it a few seconds. "After all, you _are_ the power he knows not, aren't you?"

He nodded to Hermione with a caring smile, and pressed the stone on her inner forearm, just after the wrist. The skin briefly felt on fire, and…

"Oh my god!" she moaned.

Yep. That was an orgasm. That's the least you can expect for interacting with fertility deities isn't it?

And then, the world went black.


	4. Down by the banks

**Ladies and Gentlemen, below is a piece of litterature inspired by the books of one J. K. Rowling I do not own. As a matter of fact, were those books my Intellectual Property, they'd be somewhat different. Well. That's just to say that, although featuring characters from the Harry Potter series, this story has been written for fun and without any profit, apart the pleasure of the hit count, some reviews and a growing count of favourites and alerts. Thanks to you all faithfull reader, and enjoy:**

Chapter 4 : Down by the banks (of the Colorado)

"Sophie?"

Silence.

"Sophie! Sophie, where are you?"

_Oh, yeah. Sophie. That's me._ Hermione collected herself, considering her surroundings. The cubic stone was still at the same place. She would bet it might have been a dream, but the memory was so vivid, and the aftermath of her orgasm, were convincing.

"Up here! I'm fine!"

"Oh. You've been up there for more than an hour. I was beginning to worry…what led you up there?"

"Why don't you come up and see?"

Tanita climbed swiftly and, reaching the platform, looked around in awe. "How did you find this?"

"You've never been here?"

She shook her head. "Never heard of it. Why did you climb?"

"It felt like a compulsion. I've felt it pulling stronger and stronger as I was looking at the glyphs, and…I _had_ to climb up here."

Tanita picked a camera from her backpack and took lots of photos of the platform and the various carvings, taking care of always leaving a pencil to scale the picture. "I guess professor Makeya will be thrilled."

Hermione observed the way she was methodically collecting data, soon realizing that she was avoiding the cube, as if it was only there for her. She tentatively held out her hand thinking of the summoning spell, and the stone jumped towards her.

She wrapped her fist around it, a part of her inwardly smiling at a Quidditch Analogy, and slid it into her pocket. But then, she noticed a redness on her inner forearm. There, just beside the wrist, was a tiny scar, almost a tattoo, shaped like a lightning bolt.

-x-

"Okay, on the road again!" cried happily Tanita, making the engine roar.

"How long?"

"Four hours. A good 160 miles" she replied, engaging 'drive'.

And they drove, crossing the state border – "Welcome to Utah" – and passing along cliffs, domes, a giant Mexican hat and half a dozen canyons.

"Who is professor Makeya?" asked Hermione at some point.

"Theodore Makeya. Magical Writings teacher. A funny story. He was born in a camp for citizens of Japanese descent during WWII, quite ironic since he was named after the President."

"Roosevelt?" cut Hermione, while Tanita stopped speaking to negotiate traffic.

"Yup. They were interred somewhere in Arizona, and they stayed there after the war. He was a kid then, and a shaman took him under his wing for his skills in calligraphy. He had already been introduced to ancient runes by his mother and became fascinated by all the paleoglyphs."

They stayed silent for a while, and Hermione tried to review her…what was it? Dream, vision, hallucination? Trying to recall Kokopelli's words. _You will find the power_, relying on the _life forces_…and the most sibylline: _you are the power he knows not_.

Her musings where interrupted when Tanita slowed down, and stopped on the side of the road, saying with enthusiasm: "Look! Your first arch!"

Hermione looked in awe. Almost above her head, and immense arch of stone was standing. Of course, she had seen a lot of pictures and knew the process leading to those amazing geological structures, but it was nonetheless a shock.

"Wonderful" she whispered. "I'm eager to visit the park"

"You'll be able to enjoy it all year long, it's gorgeous. Okay, let's go. We have less than twenty miles left".

And soon, they were driving at a reasonable speed in a nondescript town. There were many resorts, stores, schools…Then, Tanita turned left and stopped after two hundred yards along a parking lot.

"Here we are"

Hermione frowned, looking at the sign in front of her, unbelievingly. "You're kidding."

"Nope. Welcome to Moab School for Magical Studies, aka M.S. Square"

"_This_ is MS-square? The _Gonzo_ Inn?"

Tanita did not answer, but jumped from the truck.

"Holly Mother of God" whispered Hermione, sliding from her seat on the ground. "_Hiding in Plain Sight_, he said. Fuck me."

She grabbed her travel bag, and walked behind Tanita, heading to what looked like a motel entrance. A woman in a fitted shirt and shorts walked towards them.

"Hey, Tani! No trouble I guess"

"No, Melissa. It was fun"

"And you must be Sophie Wilkins. Welcome to MS Square. I'm Melissa Hawthorne"

"Nice to meet you, headmistress"

"Oh, posh! Don't be so British and call me Melissa, like everybody else. Come on, you must be exhausted."

Hermione smiled shyly and followed the older woman out of the parking lot, towards what looked like the lobby of a hotel, following a path across a neat lawn. The school was composed of two oddly shaped buildings, with many faces, balconies, terraces, on each side of a large garden with an outdoor pool and spa. The whole was friendly and welcoming looking.

"Those buildings are just the housing facilities. All the classrooms, labs and meeting rooms are underground, with the library and computer centre. Some classes or activities are outside the bounds. All biology practical works, for instance, take place at the Farm, beyond this grove, you can spend time there if you're interested in bio agriculture. We also use the stadium and library of the University of State; it's a five minute bike ride."

Almost running to climb a few steps to the entrance, the headmistress pushed the doors open and yelled towards a counter "Venus! Miss Wilkins is checking in!"

Hermione stared at the statuesque blonde, who was introduced as the facility manager, behind the counter,

"Whatever your needs, from a missing bog roll to a slow internet connection, let Venus or her team know. There's always someone here, 24/7… is her… yes, it is."

She picked a badge from the counter and gave it to Hermione. "The buildings will recognize your magical signature, but the computers and such won't. This will help, and it also works as an emergency portkey in case of trouble. It's also an ID you can use in town whenever necessary. …okay, let's grab a bite".

All this had been said without a pause, and she was already striding into a corridor. "Hmm, on with the generalities. No dress code here, we rely on the common sense of the students, and would a situation arise, we'd have a chat. No curfew either, same rationale. The library is open 24/7, like the labs." She suddenly stopped to exchange quick words with an elf, excusing herself.

"Yes, she's rather hyper" whispered Tanita, leading Hermione through a set of doors.

Melissa Hawtorne was quite immediately on their heels. "Okay, here's the cafeteria."

"I see" replied Hermione. It was a large room, with twenty or more tables, of various shapes, sized to seat from two to ten people. Two counters were lined along the walls, with high stools, for, she guessed, people who wanted to grab a snack alone or quickly. It was looked like any Muggle cafeteria, and she picked a tray she quickly filled it, realizing that she was rather hungry.

"All of the fresh food is organic, coming from our Farm or others in the vicinity. We try to get as many eco-friendly or fair trade products. The menu is devised so everyone can keep to their diet, whatever the reason. We also stick as much as possible to seasonal foods, so don't expect strawberries in winter…"

A few tables were in use, three by young people Hermione guessed were students, while a dark skinned man with dreadlocks and a goblin were facing each other at another table. _At last_, mused Hermione, _something weird out there…_

"Ah, let's join Louis and Arduk" declared Melissa Hawthorne, heading towards the pair.

"Mind if we cut in, boys?"

"Of course not, Mel. Hey, Tanita, nice to see you safe" replied the man. Then, turning towards Hermione: "You must be Sophie Wilkins"

"Yes, sir"

"Louis Bellerive, Minds arts of all kinds. I understood we're going to spend some time together"

Hermione nodded. Sam had spoken a lot about Louis.

"I guessed as much" she replied. "Sam sends his regards"

"AH AH!" laughed the Goblin. Such an uproarious laugh from a short individual was surprising. "His _regards?_ More likely something about licking the sweat off his balls and his _tight voodoo ass_!"

She smiled sheepishly before he went on:

"How is the old brute faring? I'm Asok, Arduk Asok. Maths and such. Welcome to M.S. square"

"Nice to meet you. And the old brute is fine."

"Good. We'll not bother you tonight, we'll set up a meeting tomorrow to plan for the remaining weeks to see what tutoring you need, if any. Have you got all your things?"

"No" she said, frowning. "Just clothes, climbing gear, Muggle books. I planned to buy my bike here and my magical stuff is still in…transit."

"Sam thinks the Old Fag and his Merry Wankers have it" stated Melissa.

"Oh" frowned Louis. "There will be blood"

_There's already been blood_, thought Hermione, squeezing her eyes shut.

A couple of weeks ago, Sam and her father had taken her on a side trip. A portkey had dropped them near London, where they had taken a nondescript car for a drive. They had climbed at the top of a building, where Sam had given Hermione a pair of powerful binoculars. She had looked and discovered oddly shaped buildings in an odd – and old – looking street.

"Is that…Diagon Alley?"

"Close"

"Knockturn?"

"Spot on, Kitten. Do you see a famous face?"

She surveyed the few people wandering in the alley.

"Oh, yes. There's Malfoy."

"Interesting. Where is he?"

"See the house with the purple tiles?"

"Check"

"On the left, there's a pub"

"Check"

"You see the yellow sign, at the left of the pub?"

"I do" replied his father.

"He's the blond guy below the sign. On his right is Vincent Crabbe, one of his goons"

"The bulk?"

"Yep."

"So Blondie is the hot shot?"

"Yes, Crabbe is cannon fodder." She had replied, focused on Malfoy's face.

Suddenly, she had seen Malfoy jump away from where Crabbe was standing. She had moved the binoculars to the side to see the sidekick crumpling in a heap, while a mass of bloody matter was sliding slowly from the wall behind him. Sam was already pulling her upright. In a daze, she had seen her father methodically fold a sniper rifle. A minute later they were on the pavement, ten more and the car was left in a rundown street and after the pull of a portkey, and she had found herself in a meadow in Wales. She could remember vividly the following talk with her father.

"Okay there, Kitten?"

"I'm fine, Dad."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm not. I just saw Crabbe's brains splashed on a wall. Those look like Death Eater methods."

"No. If I had shot blondie, I would have killed the heir of a prominent Dark family. I just shot John Doe. It's likely they will never understand what happened to him. I've just brought unease to their camp. We don't plan to kill another one."

"Yet"

"Yet."

She had shrugged.

"Anyway, I condemned Crabbe to death and I don't give a damn. What bothers me the most, I must admit, is that I'm thinking more about the quantity of cerebral matter in his head rather than the fact I've basically painted a target sign on a classmate."

She slowly walked away, then turned slowly. "Dad?"

"Yes?"

"As far as I can tell, it was a nice shot."

-x-

"Okay there, Sophie?" asked a voice.

Yes. There would be blood, and she wouldn't give a damn about it.

"Sam is not the worst. Wait till you meet my father on a 'don't mess with my daughter' day".

-x-

Hermione woke up bright and early the next morning. She went out on the small terrace to enjoy the fresh air, enjoying the view on the…well, the sandstone plateau closing the valley to the south, where she could see the sharp edge of the Canyon. She surveyed her room, in the pale light. What a change from the Hogwarts dormitories! It was in fact a two-room suite, with a bedroom furnished with a king sized bed, a huge closet and a bathroom, and a sitting room with kitchenette and large table and sofa and even a TV set…She dressed in running gear and went outside. She had discovered during her stay in Wales that running somewhere was a great opportunity to discover a place. Faster than walking, but slow enough to notice many little details. So she ran on the sidewalk, almost surprised to quickly reach the town centre, getting waves from Mountain Bike riders leaving for their daily trips. She understood now why a Mountain Bike was on the supplies list.

She reached the university and its stadium, then headed north toward the banks of the Colorado River. There, she followed a path upstream for a couple miles before heading back to MS-square. She checked the time and settled for stretching on the lawn, distractedly watching the hills surrounding the town. _So here I am. Welcome to Moab, Hermione. _It was not grand as Hogwarts, just a plain place. Welcoming, casual, but…well, she could have been a Muggle and come to live here. The idea made her wonder how her parents were faring in Boulder.

"Be careful on this one, don't arch your lower back so much!" said a voice, startling her from her thoughts.

"I beg your pardon?" she said, looking at a woman in her thirties, slender, also clad in running gear, although more revealing than hers.

"I said, you arch your back too much, you stress your spine that way, instead of the muscles. Let me guide you" replied the woman, correcting Hermione's posture. "I'm Maureen, by the way. Maureen O'Grady"

Hermione exhaled slowly, nodding. "Oh, yes. Health, fitness, healing, isn't it?"

"Spot on, and you're Sophie Wilkins. How far did you run?"

Hermione explained her route, gaining a positive appreciation. "We'll get something out of you. Go grab fresh clothes from your room and come back, I'll take you to the fitness centre."

She complied, and was back with a small bag and toiletries. She followed Maureen down a set of stairs and at last, was reminded she was actually in a magical building: from the large windows of the _underground _fitness centre, she could see the Colorado flowing.

"In fact" said the teacher, as if reading her thoughts "it's not the Colorado, but the Green River"

"Oh" she said, trying to recall the map of the area. "So we sort of are at the bottom of Island in the Sky?"

"Spot on. It's a real time view."

She surveyed the room. It was not very different from the usual gym, with bikes, treadmills, weight machines. Maureen drilled her for half an hour on their use and made a thorough assessment of her fitness.

Of course, she was properly famished when she reached breakfast.

"Maureen, don't tell me you got a hold of this poor girl!"

"Come on, Louis. She was out running before me…"

"Hm. Your word." He replied with a mock dubious face.

Hermione swallowed quickly to greet the Minds Art Teacher.

"Sophie, when you're done, bring your coffee in my office, okay?"

And a few minutes later, Hermione found herself sitting in front of Bellevue's desk, nursing a hot mug of coffee.

"What do you know about Occlumency?"

"A little bit. It is a set of techniques allowing a person to control the way their mind is accessible to an external probe, based on structuring and layering memory patterns, and even decoying the probe on insignificant or even false memories. It's based on meditation, directed associative memory and visualisation."

Louis cocked an eyebrow. "Hm. That's just a summary of the tiny bit you know, isn't it?"

"Well, there is a neurological background, the way…" but she stopped in mid-sentence, noticing the teacher's grin. He stood up and held his hand, motioning her to stand up.

He led her out of his office, out in the park, and they walked in the sparse woods bordering the west side of the park, talking about meditation methods. He motioned her to sit on a path of sundried grass, under the shadow of a pine tree. They settled facing each other, cross legged.

As instructed, Hermione quickly entered a meditative state, but the experience led by Louis happened to be quite different from the usual introspection she had practised under Ayesha's guidance the previous weeks. Focusing harder on slowing her breathing, she found herself on the edge of dizziness, feeling quite out of her body, until something would pull her back like a rubber band.

She snapped her eyes open. "That's déjà-vu!"

"I beg your pardon?"

"I was on the edge of feeling I was out of my body, and just as I was about to look at me from outside, something pulled me back in! Just like it did for the memory charm before I tried Ayesha's acid!"

Louis nodded. "Okay, that won't work. Let's focus on something else. Do you hear the rustling of the leaves above?"

"I do"

"Focus on it. Shut down all the other noises"

So she did. It seemed to last an eternity, before her universe was made of the little sounds, leading not to dizziness, but to something else. She was no longer hearing the leaves, but feeling them…at the beginning, she could picture by the noise the leaves rubbing each other, and now, she was feeling halos of energy interacting. Interacting together, guided by a steady current…was that the wind? it was difficult, tiring, because she had to maintain her state of perception while trying to analyse consciously…other patterns became perceptible…the fuzzy mass of the tree, a bright halo close to her…Louis? and another diffuse halo that seemed to surround her, but in a strangely shaped fashion, as if bulging out of a fishnet of sorts…_that's me!_

"That's me!" she yelled, "that's…"

"What did you feel?" asked Louis.

She calmed herself, exhaling slowly, and explained precisely what she had observed to a very interested teacher.

"You know," she added after a pause, "Sam explained what I would gain in perception by having my magic silenced for a while. It was not a great comfort at firstm but I suddenly wonder if, by chance, he was right…"

But her teacher was shaking his head with a smile. "You are Aware"

"What do you mean?"

"An old Shamanic saying. When you can feel the life forces around you. We call that Awareness. It's a rare gift, and you would have missed it without your ordeal. We can expect great things from you, Hermione"

"Sophie"

"Bullshit. I'm talking to Hermione now. Sophie will soon go back to rest, settle in and so on, but there is no reason fate had dropped this entire load on Hermione's head if not to achieve great things"

"Fate is a bitch, ask a friend of mine…"

"I know. One more reason to keep fighting"

"Do I look like I'm giving up?"

"No, you don't. But don't lose yourself in Sophie Wilkins, will you?"

She paused, and then nodded slowly. "Life force?"

"Back to business, already?" said Louis with a smile. "Good. There is more to magic than wand movements and incantations, or even the subtle art of potions. Magic is a part of life. Not only yours and mine, but Life, capital 'L'. The Great Stuff, you know."

"Was Lucas spot on?" she replied with a smile.

"In a sense. But you, young Padawan, you already got a taste of the power of the Dark Side"

They walked back to the buildings.

"Something puzzles me: how do you prevent Muggles from trying to check in?"

"There is an intent repelling ward. Magic-aware Muggles can see the buildings. Others will see the inn, but know there are no vacancies"

"Brilliant"

-x-

Harry Potter collapsed on his bed after stripping down to his boxers. In the dark room, he was holding his wand – the Holly with Phoenix core one – squeezed between two fingers, marvelling at his preserved integrity after the threats received earlier in the evening. How come two Dementors had conveniently decided to wander near Magnolia Drive? And now, he was in trouble for defending his cousin Dudley. Dudley of all people !

"Damn, I must have something with saving people. That's the second task over again." He whispered. "Well, no. I don't wish the Kiss on anyone, not even Dudley."

His scar was slightly throbbing, a little more than usual. He guessed it was because of his anger. He was assaulted by negative thoughts again and again: there was the unfairness of the whole situation, the apparent lack of concern for his state of mind. The worst was Sirius' short note. _Arthur has just told us what's happened. Don't leave the house again, __**whatever you**__ do_. Not a single word of comfort, just an order. No 'hello', not a kind word. Just orders, as usual. _Boy, don't leave the house_.

_Freak, don't leave the house_.

He realised that his scar was a bit more painful. _As if my anger fuels it. Since it has a link to Voldemort, it's not a surprise. I need to calm down._

He racked his brain for a while, trying to find something soothing to focus on. Eventually, he pictured himself flying in wild countryside. Just a clear sky, some scattered clouds and under, moors and forests, lakes, and in the middle flown a river. He was now flying a few feet above the water, watching the swirls, the way the water made his way over pebbles of all sizes, shapes and colours, the reflection of the forests and cliffs…and the soothing effect of the breeze on his forehead. And then, the pain decreased and he felt asleep.

-x-

"It's Sophie, isn't it? May I join you?"

"Make yourself at home" she replied, without a blink.

She was growing accustomed to her new name and the call was now familiar with it. It had been a kind of gimmick for the last hours. She eyed the Beach Boy leaning to her table. Well built, although barely an inch taller than her, but much more broad-shouldered, with wavy blond hair held by a red bandana. A sleeveless tight fitting shirt was shaping a muscular chest, inviting in bold letters to "Fight Gravity".

"John, is it?"

"Yep. John Chabar, from Mammoth Lakes"

"Sophie Wilkins, from London"

She noticed the telltale grazes on his knuckles, as he was sitting in front of her.

"Climber, I see"

"Easy guess"

Showing the scraps, she said "Those are fresh. Kane Creek this morning?"

John raised an eyebrow.

"I read that the wildest cracks in the vicinity are in Kane Creek. Just a lucky guess…"

He nodded his approval, picking on carrot sticks. "I had quite a hard time this morning. Where did you climb before?"

"In Wales, Llanberris area. But I just started a few weeks ago."

They ate in silence.

"Are you up set with your tutoring for this month?"

"Not a lot. Mostly Techno and Fitness. By the way, I plan to go and buy a bike this afternoon. Would you help me?"

"Sure."

So, an hour later, they exited MS Square to reach, a few blocks later, a set of shops around a parking lot. Hermione noticed there was even a bookshop. A huge bookshop. During the walk, John discussed the requirements for a proper mountain bike, and the qualities required by the characteristics of the terrain. She settled for a fully suspended red monster with hydraulic disc brakes, after John had ensured her that the school workshop had suitable tooling to maintain it. She also bought gloves, a helmet, and a backpack with water bottle.

She had an hour to wait until the bike was ready, and she spend it in the bookshop, while John slouched in a battered armchair with and old copy of one of the Mountaineer's bible, featuring a climber in Jacquard jumper and corduroy trousers in the Mont Blanc area in the French Alps.

They walked back to the school, Hermione pushing her bike – riding back to school trying to balance a stack of paperbacks was beyond her ability – and John carrying his own purchases and some of Hermione's. They paused in a café so she could treat her new friend to a drink and a pastry as a thank you for his help. They managed to keep the conversation light, John obviously keeping his curiosity in check. _Don't ask questions and I'll tell you no lies_ seemed to be a common policy in MS square, at least regarding personal issues.

Once back at the building, she locked her bike in the appropriate place, and struggled a bit to take her new possessions up to her room, where she dumped them unceremoniously on the couch, before slumping on the chair in front of her desk.

She scowled to the mess it was, littered with all the textbooks she had gathered the previous day from Louis and Arduk, a handful of periodicals, guides on Moab and vicinity, plus some booklets on Navajo language and symbolism. The only things in place were a picture of her parents and an old ruler made of dark wood on the first shelf.

It was time to tidy up.

-x-

It didn't take long for Hermione to reacquaint herself with Muggle stationery. Writing with a ballpoint on a notepad, without the constraints of ink bottle management and quill sharpening was a great source of freedom, and thus, she had just completed a leaflet of math revision in a hammock hanging between two trees, filling the quiz upside down. It was five in the afternoon, the day was now cooler and she was considering either a swim or a walk. She was a bit sore after a three hour ride upstream to Colorado with John and Maureen in the morning, so a swim was appealing, but her musings were cut short by the beat of funky music coming from a portable CD player. She watched, surprised, the girl coming with the sounds. She was clad in tiny denim shorts and a bikini top, her blonde hair tied in a ponytail with a pink cap. Nothing out of place for an American teen, if it weren't for the soccer ball she was carrying. She put the player on a bench, and began juggling with the ball with her feet. At first, it was careful, little moves making the ball bounce on one foot, then the other, then between both.

She'd seen this kind of trick more than once in the streets of London, and even in Hogwarts courtyards when Dean Thomas had a bout of nostalgia. But the girl increased the pace steadily, bouncing the ball with knees, spinning on the spot to use her heel, to hold it balanced on her forehead or even the tip of her nose, locked behind the knee, juggling again, faster, crossing legs, jumping right and left, never missing a beat of the music. Hermione found herself marking the beat with her foot, fascinated by the dexterity of the girl. She watched her for minutes, awestruck. When the second song ended – she had recognized a hit from Prince – the girl paused to drink some water, and noticed her.

"Hey"

"You're amazing" said Hermione

"No, I'm Sue-Ann" replied the girl. "Sue-Ann Prince. I heard there was a transfer this summer. I guess it's you…"

Hermione nodded.

"Yep. I'm Sophie Wilkins"

"Nice to meet you, Sophie. Brit, hey? Fancy soccer?"

"Erm, actually, no. But I've never seen anyone pulling your kind of stunt, apart from some cariocas on TV" she chuckled, before asking "you'd not be Brazilian, would you?"

The girl laughed. "No. I'm from Vegas, actually"

"Vegas, as in Las Vegas?"

"Yep, Sin City and all. That one. Ever been to Vegas?"

"Once. My parents – they are dentists – were at a conference and my grandmother took me there. Since then I have a hard time picturing children in Vegas…"

"Have you been here for a long time?"

"My second day here. Well, technically the third, Tanita Spring drove me from Phoenix on Sunday"

"Enjoying Moab, so far?" asked Sue-Ann. She had resumed her juggling, on a leisurely pace.

"Oh, yes. It's…different. Different from Britain, the secrecy is handled differently...it's more, blending in. Hiding in plain sight a friend said. And...well, I'm not so fond of the Victorian Era, you know. I like the light of an electric bulb and go to town and make a phone call…"

"My mum was born in England. She went to school over there. Left after her Owl year and came to America. I see what you mean. She never blended in. You'll see the first generations find it easier here than in Great Lakes, or Squamish."

"What about Salem?"

Sue-Ann snorted.

"There is no technomancy in Salem. A bit posh if you know what I mean" she paused, kicked the ball towards a tree, where it bounced back. She controlled it with her forehead, letting it slide along her spine. She twisted a leg to hold it a second before dropping it on the ground "Very Wasp". Another indescribable trick where the ball looked it had a life of it's own. And she went on:

"You would not get a Bellerive or an Asok in Salem"

"Well, I've read many papers from teachers or post-Newts in Salem…"

"Oh, yeah, they are top notch on academics, I can't deny that. But…look: the school is located ten miles from the MIT: you have MDs and first-gens who could build a bridge, with their understanding of both worlds, you know, but instead, they stick to ancient stuff like "Skull and Bones", pointed hats, house rivalry and you'd wager those nitwits dream of being Her Majesty's subjects again!"

Hermione stayed silent. Sue Ann noticed her unease and smiled.

"Not that I hold anything against Brits. Well, Brit wizards have a tendency to thoroughly retrograde and narrow minded, the 'purest' the blood the fuckiest the ways, like"

Hermione nodded, expecting the rant to go on and pondering the various attitudes possible.

"Well, I'm somewhat bitter with Salem. I spent three years there, you know. It was quite the rollercoaster. Top marks in science, potions, charms, reserve seeker on the house team, but I'm a bit low on the power side and my transfiguration practical lacks grandeur, so well, I was not blending in per se…"

Sue-Ann switched the player off and picked it. They headed inside and a familiar layout caught Hermione's interest on the newsstand, where the main papers, including foreign ones, where available.

"How come we get this rag?" she wondered out loud, picking up the Daily Prophet.

"They send complimentary copies to all magical schools in the world" replied Venus from behind her counter and then she saw the headline.

"Oh fuck."

* * *

**A/Ns**

1) All climbers out there will get the reference to the immense climber John Bachar, and remember him fondly, he was a good guy. They might also recognize the guy in Jacquard jumper and corduroy… ("On Ice and Snow and Rock" anyone?). Check out pictures on my blog (see profile/homepage).

2) We are many months from Hermione's statement of Harry's _saving people thing._ Well, as it happens, Emo McBroodypants can have a bit of hindsight.

3) You'll notice that Hermione experiences a shift in her vocabulary. Massive memory charms can do that to people, I guess.


	5. No sex please, we're British!

The rookie scribe watched contentedly at the statistics for his latest report. It was his longer one so far, completed on schedule, and he was rather proud of it. He was well aware that, when the report would come back from evaluation by the True Speaker of The Language, he would be assaulted by guilt and shame over the amount of Capitalization fails, in/into, much/many confusions and other pathetic misnapes of all kind. He had also another task to accomplish : (dis)claim to the face of the world that the Hermione Granger Universe was the Intellectual Property of Joanne K. Rowling and editors, and thus his report was sort of open-sourced without any claim to a profit or monetary advantage whatsoever.

**Chapter 5. No sex please, we're British!**

"Fuuuuck!"

The rope whipped the stone soundly, immediately followed by the metallic sound of all the gear Hermione was carrying when her fall came to a stop. Then, a long string of curse words resonated in the canyon.

John slowly lowered her to the base of the cliff.

"I'm done for today" she said, blowing on her fingers to lessen the pain "I can't spend more time here, I'm supposed to meet Bellerive at ten" she added, while John was levitating her downwards, allowing her to unclip the quick-draws from the cliff.

"You know, for someone who's been climbing for no longer than a couple months, failing in a 5.13 is not something to be ashamed of."

"I'm not ashamed, I'm just…frustrated." she said, untying the rope from her harness. "You know, biking or running is nice, but it lets your mind wander, and it's not always a good thing for me to let my mind wander. I've been blowing off more steam climbing, lately."

She began coiling the rope while John was sorting the gear, and she caught a sidelong glance.

"What?"

"Did you try sex?" he asked coyly.

She mock kicked him "Prat."

"I'm just giving out ideas to blow off steam, eh!"

The fact is, she had actually blown off some steam in the quietness of her room, and it had bothered her a bit. Like the average teen, she had sought release of some urges in masturbation – and not in bantering with Ron Weasley – as often as her roommates – as far as silencing spells fail – starting from second year and when she was somewhat besotted with her Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher and five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most-Charming-Smile Award. But the rate and intensity of those urges had reached another order of magnitude lately. Well, not enough to accept her new friend's casual offer of hygienic sex.

'_A shame, really. He's gorgeous.'_

And then, there was all this business with Harry.

**Harry Potter Caught Red-Handed in Blatant Disregard for Law. Again!**.

The _Prophet_ had made a flashy headline out of his suspension for Unreasonable Use of Underage Sorcery, breach of the Statute of Secrecy, for performing a Patronus Charm in Little Whinging. Why would Harry cast his Patronus, unless to fight a Dementor? Had the Dementors already joined Voldemort, or had it been a set-up? By whom? She could lose herself in the whirlwind of thoughts on the topic, until those thoughts focused on Harry only, the memory of this unique night, her hands in his damned hair, and…well, all that things. _'__Oh, crap, I've got it bad.'_

-x-

Hank Logan was dozing off, then suddenly, Hank Logan was fully awake. Twenty years in the Australian Special Forces does that to people : the quiet buzzing from an alarm and they are fully operational in a blink. A glance at a computer screen showing shades of grey, obscure – pun intended – to the untrained eye, indicated that half a dozen people were landing in the run-down park under his window. He donned his night vision goggles to watch carefully. The scene was now in shades of green, with higher resolution. The streetlights vanished one by one, as if vacuumed by a device operated by one of the wizards, who had limped aside after landing. According to the available intelligence, the guy was likely Alastor "Mad-eye" Moody, retired Auror – a colleague. The little group moved carefully towards number 11, then stopped just in front of the boundary between numbers eleven and thirteen. He watched Moody give something to the smaller of them, a scrawny teenager who seemed to concentrate. His years of training in stalking allowed him to read astonishment in the teen's body language, and the whole lot quickly disappeared in a nonexistent space between the numbers eleven and thirteen, Grimmauld Place, London.

Hank removed his goggles, grabbed his cell phone and quickly texted a message.

-x-

"Anything else you want to share?"

Hermione bit her lip, avoiding eye contact with Louis Bellerive.

"You have something to share but you'd rather not share it with me" he stated.

She didn't deny, nor confirm.

"Try and talk about it to Maureen, then. Don't bottle it up"

She nodded wordlessly.

Louis smiled. "On another topic, I've got news from Sam. He says your friend has been brought to The Place safely. He'll tell you more next week-end"

She smiled. Sam had planned to bring her parents on Sunday for a day in town, and she was eager to see them. She thanked Louis and braced herself for a talk with Maureen. She had to address her libido issues, and the idea was not compelling. _'__No sex please, I'm British! Ah ah.'_

-x-

Harry Potter was lying in his bed, doing his best to shut down the snores of his friend Ron. He had no real positive thoughts to hold on: the joy of flying had quickly been suppressed by the cold, and the depressing state of Sirius' home wasn't helping. As soon as they had crossed Grimmauld Place's threshold, he had been assaulted by a rotting smell. The place was dilapidated, damp, unwelcoming, barely lit by old-fashioned gas lamps. Everybody was talking in whispers.

'_Did anybody die lately?'_ Harry had wondered. Gently nudged by Remus Lupin, he had made it to the end of the gloomy hallway. There had been movement from another door and seconds after recognising the frame of Molly Weasley, he had found himself on the receiving end of one of her (in)famous rib-cracking hugs.

Then, there had been a loud crashing noise in the hallway, a curse from the young Auror, Tonks, and an hysterical voice had begun screaming "_Filth! Scum! By-products of dirt and vileness! Half-breeds, mutants, freaks, begone from this place! How dare you befoul the house of my fathers_ – " and more curses, a yell, and amongst them a familiar voice. "Sirius!"

He remembered fondly the hug with his godfather, less fondly the other interactions in the evening. Molly Weasley's outrageous standing of "you are children", whatever the past. He could feel his anger boiling at the memory. Bloody hell, _who_ had faced Voldemort _three effing times _and lived to tell the tale? All his life had been marked by Voldemort, and he was supposed to be too young to cope? Kept in the dark, fed with…He exhaled deeply and realised that the furniture had in the room had stopped rattling. He almost smiled, as Ron hadn't stopped snoring, undisturbed. Almost. Because the other significant interaction earlier this night, had been with his friends. He snorted at the word, close to having second thoughts using it. Hermione wasn't at Grimmauld Place.

"Ron, what about Hermione?"

"What's with her?"

"I thought you were both here. I've not heard from her since King's Cross. Have you?"

"Nope" had replied Ron with a dismissive shrug. Then, after a pause, the redhead had commented. "Well, it's not a bother, she'd have nagged me for homework all day long. She must be on vacation with her folks or something."

"But she always writes! I didn't get a card on my birthday…"

"I. Don't. Know. Shit." Ron cut in, clearly annoyed. "And frankly, I don't care. This place is boring enough that I can do without the annoying bookworm around"

Harry had almost exploded, and, surprising himself, chosen sarcasm against sheer aggressiveness:

"I take you started McGonagall's three feet essay on your own?"

Reviewing this conversation for the umpteenth time of the night, having barely slept a couple of hours, despite this meditation thingy he had haphazardly put together during his stay at Number Four, he dressed quickly, tiptoed to the kitchen in the basement for a cup of tea. He brought the tea to the library he had noticed on his way down; the room was, luckily, lit – always those outdated gas lamps – and he wandered along the shelves. He smiled when he noticed a copy of _Moste Potente Potions_, the very same edition they had nicked from Hogwart's Library's Restricted Section in second year. Then, a title caught his interest. _Mind Your Mind, a Compendium of Mind Arts and Their Uses_. Well, as long as he was unable to cast a silencing charm, he might give it a go to get some sleep in spite of the Snoring Machine. He settled himself in front of a table and began his reading.

-x-

Hermione could not sleep either. The _Talk_ with Maureen had been…embarrassing, weird, and useless in her opinion. Something in the lines of 'of course you're not in your normal state, after what happened! you got urges, handle them and move on'. _'__And subscribe to a Scandinavian Porn provider?'_

She got up, donned her dressing gown and went to her desk to switch her computer on, and then to the kitchen corner for a cup of tea. She then launched her Internet Browser. Yahoo quickly gave her the information she needed. Yeah, shipped from California. Much closer than Sweden.

-x-

"…old Kreacher, oh, the shame of it, Mudbloods and werewolves and traitors, poor old Kreacher, what can he do…"

Harry stopped reading, staring above the book to the almost naked creature wandering in the library, muttering imprecations with a hint of despair in his voice. The elf stopped in front of the empty space left by the book Harry was reading.

"Hello Kreacher"

Startled, the house-elf kept muttering, something about a new boy, likely a Half Blood or some other kind of beast sullying the…

"My name is Harry Potter"

"Is it true? Is it Harry Potter? Kreacher can see the scar, it must be true, that's the boy who stopped the Dark Lord, Kreacher wonders how he did it"

"I'd be glad to know that myself" mumbled Harry.

"Kreacher wonders if Harry Potter might know…"

Harry had barely heard the elf mutter.

"Sorry, Kreacher, I did not catch that one"

"Nothing, Kreacher was thinking."

Harry frowned.

"Tell me, Kreacher" he said on a voice made firmer by his annoyance.

The elf froze. "Kreacher won't…" but the starting rant was cut short. His eyes bulged more – a feat – and suddenly, he seemed to brighten. It was furtive, but Harry saw some kind of recognition.

"Kreacher must tell young Master. Young Master is not like the others brats from the Blood Traitor Family. No. Young Master belongs. Kreacher must tell."

"Okay, Kreacher, calm down."

Harry closed the book, and crouched to be eye level with the elf.

"Why am I different from the others?"

"Because Lady Black's aunt Dorea Black is your grandmother, of course" stated the elf.

"What?"

"Harry Potter does not know his ancestors?"

Harry shook his head, sadly.

"All those blood-traitors are worthless swine letting the Boy Who Lived be ignorant of his heritage" Gone was the old, decrepit house-elf. He was still dramatically thin, his skin seemed still too large for him, but he was standing straight backed, energized.

Harry cocked his head. "Would you teach me?"

"Kreacher lives to serve the Ancient and Noble House of Black!"

He grabbed Harry's hand and dragged him out of the library into a dressing room. A desk rattled as they passed by, reminding Harry of the trunk where Professor Lupin used to store a Boggart when he was learning the Patronus. On a wall of the room, was a battered tapestry. Harry could read names related by golden threads.

"Potters were Blood Traitors, so below Charlus Potter nobody appears. The Magic of the Family Tree forbids it. But this is not the most important. The most important is here" The elf's bony finger was pointing to a name : _Regulus Arcturus Black 1961 – 1979_. Then, the elf moved in front of a glass cabinet and designated a golden locket, decorated with a snake, a snake quite familiar to Harry. A snake exactly identical to those guarding the entrance of the Chambers of Secrets.

-x-

Hermione was distractedly flipping through a Chemistry textbook to busy herself. Sam was due soon to take her to Boulder for a couple of days. There had been a change of plans, and in a way, she was eager to see how they were settling in.

Sam arrived on time, grabbed her bag to drop it in the boot of a nondescript car and they drove northwards, crossing the Colorado, passing by the entrance of Arches National Park, leaving on the left the road to Canyonlands to reach Canyonlands Field in less than half an hour, making small talk, even if she craved for more information on Harry. He gave back the keys of the borrowed car to the security manager of the little airfield, and led Hermione towards the aligned aircraft, stopping in front of a Piper twin-engine.

"A loan from another acquaintance of yours?" asked Hermione coldly.

"No, it's mine" he said, stowing her bag in the luggage compartment. "Dead useful when you have to travel quickly around America."

"Can't you apparate?"

"I don't always deal with wizards. It's sometimes simpler to have your own aircraft, moreover if you are not alone. It's a six-seater. And I rather enjoy flying it."

She stayed silent until Sam had brought the aircraft at his cruising altitude for the three hundred mile flight.

"So. Who is checking on Harry? Did he see him? How is he?"

"So nothing, Kitten" he said soothingly.

"Don't Kitten me!" she snapped back.

"Hank Logan is keeping watch in front of Grimmauld Place"

"Hank Logan? The Aussie guy I met once? He's magical?"

"No, that's the interesting bit. It looks like the place has wards that activate as soon as a magical being comes close. And we don't know what monitoring stuff they have set. But I'm pretty confident they haven't heard of infrared sensors, or night vision equipment"

"So he saw him?"

"He just caught a glimpse of Harry in his binoculars. Then everyone vanished into the non-existent house. Fidelius Charm, plus extras. The magical security is awesome, I had some people get a closer look, it's a real fortress, with rather nasty stuff."

Hermione stayed silent, observing the forest-covered landscape below.

"That's Grand Mesa Forest"

"Don't care" she growled. "Don't lecture me again, I understand he was likely watched – not closely enough to protect him from Dementors, mind you – and that I could not meet him, but still resent you forbidding me to write. I could have sent a letter by Royal Mail, just to tell him I had to go undercover for a while…"

"But we don't know if they did something to him too. He might have been obliviated, be under some compulsion to reveal any contact from you, and they'd know you are still in the game. You have to keep him in the dark for your sake, thus for his."

She snorted. "Yeah."

Sam was busy for a minute with the air traffic control.

"Kept in the dark, fed with shit. Thanks Sam, next time I'll have sex with a mushroom. Fuck you."

"Hermione! Shut the fuck up and listen to our reasons!"

"I heard them! But I know Harry better than you do. He's been locked up for more than a month in Durzkaban with the guilt of Cedric Diggory's death for company, the rebirth of Voldemort, to be attacked by Dementors coming from…Do you know where those things were coming from, by the way?"

"No. It doesn't look like they've joined Voldemort, yet."

"So Ministry? Were they supposed to be there for his safety?"

Sam shrugged, trimming his rudder to compensate a strong lateral wind. Then talked a bit with the ATC, and reduced slightly the engines power. The variometer hand went on 'down'.

"We don't know. There were alone, no wizard around, as far as Dave can tell."

"Dave?"

"David Woutter. Belgian."

"Wizard?"

"Squib. Could see the Dementors, but he was powerless, as you can guess"

"Never heard of him. Let me guess, Belgian Special Forces or French Legion?"

"Nope. Software engineer."

"But if he's clean? Harry, I mean. If he is clean, Good ol' Harry Potter, caring, as insightful as a bloke can be and brooder extraordinaire, how is he going to cope? Now he's reconnected with the swallowing machine, he'll know something is wrong with me. He was likely expecting me to be at Grimmauld Place and will only find a tribe of gingers and Dumbledore's Jolly Company. You can't prevent me for being worried"

"I know that."

"And what will happen? I dread what will be the school year if nobody shields him from Ron's carelessness"

"Give him some credit. Either he is an idiot, or he sees a pattern in Voldemort's dedication in killing him. If he does, then he knows his only chance of survival is to win. And you know the drill: who plans, wins, who sweats…"

"Yes, yes, I know the drill. Of course I do"

Sam adjusted the throttles again, and pushed a bit on the stick. The rate of descent was perceptible without looking at the variometer. They were in view of the little town and Sam guided the Piper Cheyenne in a turn northwards, then eastwards to double the town, and after receiving clearance from the tower, aligned the aircraft with the runway. Hermione observed the almost perfectly orthogonal layout of the town, while the compass was slowly spinning until it pointed to 260. He landed smoothly and taxied to the apron in the business section of the airport. As soon as the propellers had stopped moving, Hermione rushed out of the aircraft in the arms of her father, who was waiting beside a brand new truck.

-x-

"Is Master Harry feeling well?"

"I'm…assimilating, Kreacher"

Harry rubbed his eyes. He was in the Black Library, sitting on a couch, facing Kreacher who was on a chair in front of him – a chair he had been cajoled to use, a proper elf should not sit in front of his Master, not in an armchair, oooooh what would Poor Mistress think if Kreacher dared to sit in an armchair, etc…

"So: first, Voldemort"

"Eep!"

"Sorry. So, the Dark Lord took you in a cave, far to the South, made you drink an awful stuff, just to empty a basin where he dropped the ugly looking locket you showed me, then refilled it and left you rotting there"

"Yes, Master Harry"

"But thanks to the order Master Regulus had given you to come back home, you did"

"Yes Master Harry" repeated the elf with a hint of pride.

"So, when Master Regulus chose to retrieve the Dark Lord's locket, you brought it here, but you couldn't destroy it"

"Y-yes, M-master Harry" stuttered the elf.

"Kreacher, I swear I'll do everything in my power to fulfil Master Regulus' task. This thing will be destroyed. I've already seen these snakes, and I think I can talk to them to open the locket, using Parseltongue, but just now, I will not rush in headfirst. It might the same kind of stuff like the diary…If only Hermione was here…"

There was a pause. Elf and Wizard stayed silent, deep in thoughts.

"Kreacher? Two years ago, I had to deal with an enchanted diary where the Dark Lord had stored a part of his soul, when he was younger. If Master Regulus was so eager to destroy it, maybe…maybe the locket is the same thing. Do you…"

But Kreacher had caught on, and was livid.

"Kreacher…" began the elf. "Kreacher knows of this most foul Magic. Kreacher knows" he jumped from his chair, trotted to the darkest part of the library, incessantly muttering "foul, foul, Kreacher knows" and climbed onto the shelves to grab a book from the very top one. He came back to Harry, presenting it with a mix of reverence and fright: "It's all here, Master Harry"

_Secrets of the Darkest Arts_.

Harry began flipping through the pages. The parchment had an unusual texture, and he shuddered while carefully avoiding any guess on which being had provided the skin used to create the sheets. He paused on a page, and he soon knew exactly what the Diary had been, and what the locket was.

A Horcrux.

Voldemort had made Horcruxes. At least two. But were the Diary and this locket the only ones? Counting the part of the soul in Voldemort himself, that would make three parts. The first stable count, but Voldemort would not settle for so little. So how many of them were around? Five? Seven? Seven, as in the most powerful magical number as Hermione had stated one day when she was explaining some arithmancy basics…

Seven, minus the diary, minus the Locket – half done – minus Voldemort, would give four other Horcruxes to find and destroy.

Five pins in a countryside of haystacks.

_Fuck my life_.

-x-

Hermione was now relaxing. She had gone head first – Griffyndorishly – into a confrontation with her parents on the situation, and everyone had quickly calmed down once the opinions clearly stated. No crying over spilled milk, and they had enjoyed the day getting reacquainted.

She was playing with her parent's new kitten – adopted from a litter in one of their neighbour's homes, still missing Crookshanks terribly.

"Hermione?"

"Yes Dad?" Hermione's father watched her petting the cat.

"Sorry. We haven't got a clue on Crooshanks yet"

She winced, burying her nose in the cat's belly "I miss him"

"Yes, I know. We miss him too. He's such a lovely guy. But I have another topic to discuss" he said, gesturing her to follow him.

They went into the garage, where he picked up a briefcase, and went out and climbed into his truck. Hermione followed and he drove a few blocks and stopped in front of a warehouse.

Hermione frowned: "North Boulder Shooting Range?"

"Come on"

They entered through a small door into a lobby, and after a nod to the receptionist behind her counter, went into a large space delimited by a row of tables with various targets at the opposite end. He slid a card into a reader, clicked a few buttons on a screen and a robot placed an object looking like a can of paint – disturbingly of the size of a human skull – in front of a target.

He opened the briefcase and pulled out a gun, a couple magazines and a box of ammo.

"This is a Heckler and Koch P7M8 9mm Parabellum. It's a good, simple, reliable gun." he said, while her eyebrows shot up.

"Wait, you want me to use this?"

"No, I want you to be able to operate it safely and efficiently." he said, sliding the magazine into the handle and cocking the gun. "At least until you are back to being a fully operational witch and able to defend yourself. Now watch this."

He raised the gun, aimed and it went off with a flat _crack_, effectively blowing the can up.

"Eep!"

He pushed a button and the target carrier brought the can – its remains – in front of them. There was a perfectly round hole at the front, and a big messy one in the back, with pink paint dripping out.

"Eew!"

"Yes, that's what a 9mm can do. It's no toy, but you had guessed by yourself. This model has a smart grip catch here that enables firing. If you drop the gun, the grip catch would be released and the safety catch engaged." He paused theatrically and went on: "Firearms are designed for one thing, and one thing only; to kill. Therefore, first off you _always_ assume any firearm is loaded until you have made damn certain it is not loaded. No matter how old, beat-up, rusty, damaged, obsolete or dirty a weapon might be, it is still possible that it is cocked, locked, loaded and lethal. Got it?"

"Yes, Dad."

"Secondly, never _ever_ point a firearm at _anything_ you are not willing to put a bullet into, even if you know it is not loaded."

"I won't."

"Good, because that's how accidents happen, and when accidents happen with firearms, there is not a happy fucking ending…"

The safety lecture went on, and after a last piece of advice – 'don't be taken in by 'experts' who break those rules, you will outlive them' – he drilled her on loading and unloading the P7, basic maintenance before pushing another button to load a new target.

"Your turn."

More than an hour later, Hermione was glad that she had improved the muscles in her upper body, considering the dozens of rounds she had fired with little rest.

And she found herself cleaning 'her' gun on the garage workbench under her father's directions, slightly aching, her fingers stinking of gunpowder.

"How did it go?" asked Sam, poking his head through the backdoor.

"She's got terrific eye-hand coordination! That's my girl!"

She just rolled her eyes. _Fathers!_

-x-

Harry's Trial was coming closer, and the atmosphere in Grimmauld Place was getting tenser each day. The rivalry between Molly Weasley and Sirius Black was getting on Harry's nerves, and he had to admit that both had valid points. Molly Weasley was not Harry's mother, and whatever the fondness he had for the woman who acted accordingly, her over-protectiveness was a burden, and he could now figure out why her two oldest sons had left the country. And even if he claimed otherwise, Sirius was seeing too much of James Potter in Harry.

Harry was not James Potter. The tales of James Potter Sirius was so fond of telling often showed him as an arrogant bully, much like the spoiled brat Snape was so quick to denounce, than a paragon of…of what, actually? A rebel, yes, but against what? Maybe against the Pureblood etiquette, let's admit that. He was handsome, funny, rich, magically powerful and really smart. But he had a vicious streak and narrow-minded in his own way.

Harry was not sure he could have put with the Marauders – Moony excepted – in those years. Add in some dubious jokes on Hermione – When Harry had once told Sirius he was worried and missing her, his Godfather had inquired whether she was a screamer before laughing uproariously – and he was somewhat disappointed by his Godfather.

And to add a bit more of discomfort, things were getting tense with Ron. At first, Ron had though that Harry's disappearances were related to private time bonding with Sirius, and Harry had neither confirmed nor denied it. The charade had held a few days, until Ron, in search of Harry, had found Sirius.

"Harry's not with you, Sirius?"

"No, library as usual?"

"Library? What the fuck is he doing in the library?"

It had quickly gone downhill at this point, first because the library door had remained closed to Ron, who had managed to enter only with Sirius's help. Then, when everyone – Sirius included – had found it was the nicest room in the house, thanks to Kreacher's goodwill.

"Hey mate, whatcha doin' holed up in here?"

"Hmm?" had asked Harry noncommittally while closing the transfiguration book he was reading.

"Blimey! You're doing McGonagall's? What if you're expelled, you'll have wasted your time!"

"Er…" replied Harry a little surprised "I'm…really touched by your sense of priorities, Ron"

"How come this place is so neat?" asked Sirius "You didn't clean it yourself, did you?"

"Kreacher obliged me."

"What?" yelled both Sirius and Ron in unison.

"I had just to ask." replied Harry, staring defiantly to his godfather.

"This little piece of shit…"

"…is just another sentient being who craves recognition. He _lives to serve_, Sirius. He just needs somebody who cares for the work he is _willing_ to do. Did you _once_ since you reopened this house treat him without contempt? He cleaned the library, unjinxed some books and secured the cursed ones so I would be able to use the whole library at no risk, and you know why? Because I have twenty five percent of Black Genes. Funny you never mentioned the daughter of your uncle Cygnus, Dorea Potter, _née_ Black. Doesn't her name ring a bell?"

Sirius watched Harry, open-mouthed.

"Sirius." said Harry soothingly, feeling his rant might sound harsher than intended "You _are_ a great guy. I really love you like family. I'm not in the pureblood genealogic mania, but can't you understand I'd like to know something about what my family should have been without Voldemort, instead of _only_ getting tales about a bunch of immature vindictive teenagers?"

Sirius nodded silently.

"And look! This place is a treasure cave! The knowledge in this room is awesome, and I don't mention the sheer market value of some books. You have a three copies, including a sixteenth-century edition of _Moste Potente Potions_, and a first edition of Gawp's _Metamorphosis in Rerum._"

He almost added _Hermione would wet herself_. His enthusiasm was cut short by Ron, who growled.

"Merlin left saggy ball, mate, we just got rid of the bookworm, why do you need to fuck with this crappy summer anymore"

"What?"

The lights dimmed, and a vase exploded not far from Sirius.

Ron backpedalled. "Hey, I was only joking mate…"

"What's the fuck with you, Ron? Can't you…If this is the best joke you can tell, then your sense of humour is just…sick"

"You know what, Harry? You've been getting a bit big-headed lately, you know that? Like, studying and reading and such."

"I've got a fucking Dark Lord on my back, _like_. We can swap if you want, whenever you want. Send an application for Alternate Boy Who Lived Position to whomever you want! I'll give you my fame, my money and my Dark Lord. See if you fare better than me. Fancy the bargain? No. GET. OUT!"

And to the surprise of all the attendees, including Ginny who had been attracted by the heated voices, a wave of magic flushed Ron in the Hallway, where he crashed loudly just a few feet from Sirius' mother portrait.

And to the surprise of all the attendees, except Ron who was out cold, a perfectly normal, if exceedingly haughty voice, rose from the frame:

"At last! A glimpse of a backbone among this filth and slime. Maybe there is some hope. A shame it's from a Gryffindor Half Blood"

-x-

"Sophie?"

"Oh, Sue, that's you. Where are you coming from at such an ungodly hour of the night?"

"Oh, the night is young, it's just one-thirty. You?"

"Can't sleep. Can't work. I was planning a walk to the river"

"May I join you?"

Hermione nodded, and they walked silently in the deserted streets, then on the road for almost half an hour, towards the river. Due to some clouds, it was pitch black and somewhat scary, and she found some comfort in the weight of the H&K in her jacket. Sue-Ann was in the same state of mind, and was singing in slightly out of tune voice.

_I asked my love, to take a walk_

_To take a walk, just a little walk…_

_Down by the banks…_

"Sorry, wrong river" she eventually said with a chuckle.

"Yep. The Ohio, right?"

"Yes. Mum is a Joan Baez fan. I had to listen more than once to her repertoire of ballads."

"I remember it, I think."

They watched the water in silence. A little breeze was blowing through the Canyon, chilling the air.

"So much for a midnight swim" complained Sue-Ann, tightening her jacket.

_And down beside where the water flows…_sung Hermione in an undertone.

_Down by the banks, of the Ohio._ They chorused, before going into a fit of giggles.

"Okay, so much for a girl band." deadpanned Hermione, before checking her cell phone for the umpteenth time in the evening.

"Waiting for a call? Hmm, let me do the math: two am, that's…ten in Britain, isn't it?"

Hermione shrugged. Sue-Ann did not nag.

-x-

Sam vanished quickly from the corridor in Level Nine where he was lurking in a dark corner. Cornelius Fudge had exited Courtroom Ten seething, almost chewing on his bowler hat, so Harry Potter had likely been cleared. The Atrium was almost deserted, the lonely guard keeping watch over the Daily Prophet. Soon, A balding redhead and a skinny teen came out of another lift. He watched the teen make a detour to the ugly fountain and empty his moneybag as an offering, he guessed, smiling. He made his way out of the building and texted more than a message. Since they had reached a decision point, some plans were now obsolete and others had to be put into motion.

-x-

"Sophie? It's yours" said Sue-Ann with a nudge.

Hermione fumbled in her pocket to pick her phone and read the incoming message.

_He got off._

She slumped against Sue-Ann, unable to maintain her composure.

"He got off"

Sue-Ann did not ask, just pulled the girl in an embrace and let her weep.

* * *

A/N:

No Googling in this story, check available search engines in 1995 : there was Lycos, Webcrawler and Yahoo, started in 1994. AltaVista, Exite, Infoseek were launched in 1995.

According to the lexicon, it is unlikely that Dorea Black is Harry's grandmother. I just discovered the "fact" today (Jan 15th, 2011) as I was double checking canon facts for this chapter. But I've read so many fanfics involving her that I think it's at least fanon.

Look at Boulder Municipal, the airport has one runway, and you can read on Google Maps the numbers 8 and 26 on the thresholds. Sam avoids flying over the town and lands on 26, that's an aeronautic heading of 260 degrees, a bit south relative to full west which would be 270…er, never mind, just showing off.

The 'Talk' on firearms in general and the H&K P7 is heavily inspired when not cut and pasted from "Harry Johnson and the Headmaster's Socks" by Callum J. 'Doghead' Wallace. His story (and the _in progress_ sequel) is the Mother of all Alternate Universe Time-Travel Crossovers of Doom, and I strongly recommend it.

You say Mum, I say Mom…I rather enjoy myself with English differences when scenes switch from one side of the Pond to the other. Unless it's a trick to avoid getting flamed for my poor English.


	6. Back to schools

Disclaimer: "Twinkling Eyes" is a registered trademark of Dumbledore Enterprises Ltd, Godric's Hollow, Wales. No Lemon Drops were mistreated during the creation of this chapter, written as a recreational act also known as "fanfiction writing". No ill intent was targeted to the rights owned by Ms J.K. Rowling on the Harry Potter Universe.

**Chapter 6. Back to schools.**

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft And Wizardry, Scotland. August 31st_.

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft And Wizardry, Order of Merlin First Class, up until a few weeks ago Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, Co-Discoverer of the Twelve Uses of Dragon Blood, Slayer of Dark Lord Grindelwald surveyed with his Twinkling Eyes™ the whole faculty, gathered in the conference room adjacent to his office, adding an extra Caring and Understanding Smile to the latest addition, the Ministry Appointed Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, one Dolores Umbridge, Undersecretary to the Minister and well known bitch extraordinaire.

"So, dear colleagues, I guess we are ready for another school year. Shall we indulge ourselves with a glass of Madam Rosemerta's finest?"

_Professor_ Umbridge declined and took her leave.

They exchanged inconsequential things for a few minutes, until McGonagall, unable to hold any longer, spoke, "Albus, any news of Miss Granger?"

"Miss who?" sneered Snape.

"Severus…" chided Dumbledore. Then, to his Deputy, "As far as I know, her parents have moved to the United States, where she now plans to attend a Muggle College. That's what her return letter mentioned."

"Albus, I still don't understand how it can have happened. She was our brightest student…and she was the cornerstone of her year. Honestly, how would you compare Miss Brown to her as a Prefect? And she had been such a support to Mr Potter last year. I shudder at the thought he would have only had Mr Weasley to rely on during the Tournament…"

-x-

In the meantime, Hermione was challenging herself on the Amasa Back Trail, a twenty mile mountain bike loop that had became one of her favourites when she wanted to lose two hours in pure physical catharsis. She was near the top of the mesa, and pushing harder.

It was August 31st, and the next day, she wouldn't board the Hogwarts Express. Classes would start at Moab in two days and she was looking forward to the daily routine of schoolwork, but now, she was feeling out of place.

At the end of the dirt road, she followed a single track for another mile upon reaching a maze of rocks. They were not high enough to catch the interest of the climbers, and the place was too secluded for anyone else. She reached a spot she had found a couple weeks ago, and sat there, taking off her shoes and socks to feel the sandstone. Then, she removed her gloves, unstrapped her backpack where she picked up the cubic stone with the lightning bolt shaped carving, and sat down on a flat slab, cross legged, facing the stone.

Then, the focused on the glyph, to shut herself off from anything but the image, the heat of the sun and the light breeze on her skin. She had spent the first miles of her ride struggling with time zones to try and guess what they were doing _over there_ – no point calling Britain 'Home' anymore. Riding the Hogwarts Express, riding the carriages…Shutting everything down to focus on her magic was harder than ever, the train ride she was missing nagging at her without a pause. She was not with her friends, she was alone, far away. Alone, cast out…The first eleven years of her life over again. Depressing. She could not afford to be depressed and thought of her new friends.

Thinking of her schoolmates in MS-square felt…wrong? Like a betrayal of all her Hogwarts friends, Harry, Neville, Ginny, Luna and even Ron. Whenever she spent time with her Moab friends, she felt a fading of the Hogwarts gang. Of course it was true, she knew very well the way memory works, not a matter of betrayal…Memories are not carved in marble. They are more like a sandcastle which needs a constant supply of sand to fix the attrition by the waves and the wind. That's why the memories about Harry were the most accurate. She had daily sessions of refreshing them, while, er…blowing off steam. She refocused on her Moab friends, John, Sue-Ann, Ray Escalante, a natural born technomancer – or an incurable nerd – and Pamela Levesque, born to an Inuit mother and a Quebecker woodcutter, a potential bunch of misfits, unless there. In MS-Square, they were not misfits, just ordinary students.

When she exited the meditative state she had reached in spite of her musings, the stone was hovering an inch above the slab. She had seen the tendrils of the bindings, managing to deplete some of them, using the existing leaks and elemental magic gathered from the stones, the air, the warmth of the sun. It was a very slow progress, but on another hand, she felt that day after day she was perfecting her understanding of Magic, getting a feeling of how everything in the world was laced with magic. Classes had not yet started and she had learned loads, things she would have never heard of in the restricted world of western Magic. Not that Western Magic was beyond by itself, but the haughtiness fuelling the Western society was forbade them to get the whole picture.

Sam was right. Moab was the place for her.

She collected her things, tied her shoes, adjusted her backpack, helmet and fancy sunglasses and after softening the dampers for downhill, hurried towards the town.

-x-

_London, King's Cross station, September 1st, 10:50 a.m._

A disorganized group of strange looking people, with a significant proportion of redheads and a huge black dog, was gathering noisily between platforms nine and ten. An attentive observer would have noticed those people disappearing one by one after a quick head-first run into the barrier. A more attentive observer would have noticed a teen, with unruly dark hair, staying almost imperceptibly apart, and sliding an envelope in the closest Royal Mail Post Box.

-x-

_London, September 1st, in the evening_.

Grimmauld Place was not the most welcoming address in London. And at night, it was even more unwelcoming. In fact, it was rather run down, and the neighbourhood was of questionable morality, so most people around did not really pay any attention to who was doing what.

So, nobody really noticed – or if they did, made a point to pretend the opposite - those two men dressed in black from top to bottom, tiptoeing carefully along the walls of number 11, to settle in a waiting position at the very edge of the property. Soon enough, a resounding _crack _was heard from the rickety park in the middle of the place, and a shabby man crossed the street towards a location between two houses who started shifting, giving him access to a hidden building.

Mundungus Fletcher was not a bright man. He was not a fighter either. His environmental awareness was focused on many borderline legal deals - the precise side of the border being hard to identify. Two reasons for him to be unable to react when a violent push catapulted him inside the house where he crashed face first in the dusty entrance hall. He no more reacted when he was roughly flipped over and relieved of his wand. Then, he realized that two men were bent over him and recognized the contraptions they were holding for the lethal stuff they were: Muggle Weapons, handguns. He almost chuckled, with the image of the Head of The Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office butchering the word in 'handgums' or something equally irrelevant, but both weapons were aimed at him, and he knew very well that no shields could stop bullets at such a short distance, especially by a lousy wizard like himself.

"Hello, Dung."

"Who are you?"

"Wrong answer." was the reply, emphasized by a sharp pain in the ribs, where a foot had just connected.

"How many people in the house now?"

"N..none. I was just…here…to…make a…a check…of…OUCH…what was that for?"

"Just to remind you of your Pile of Dragon Dung status, _Dung_. Okay, you were just checking for the availability of some valuables. Speaking of valuables, we are looking for a something belonging to a friend of ours."

"A trunk." Said the other man. "A school trunk. It might be stored somewhere in this house. It belonged to a girl who…decided to leave the magical world, it seems."

"The…the Granger slut?"

This ill-inspired statement was followed by the unpleasant noise of a boot crushing a nose, some teeth and a cheekbone.

"Cool. You have the information we need. I see a future deal."

"Arghmfff!" Another foot in the jaw, and the clattering of a tooth on the floor. Then a new sharp pain in the ribs, with an audible cracking sound. Broken rib. Ouch. Make that plural, ribs.

Mundungus was grabbed by the shoulders and lifted on his feet.

"Is it here?"

"yemf." a positive shook of the head was more explicit than the grunt.

"Lead the way."

They followed his directions, half carrying him, into a cleaned kitchen, then a store room. He opened a door leading into a courtyard littered with junk and into a shed where they eventually found Hermione's trunk under a pile of broken furniture.

One of the men grabbed the trunk while the other one pulled some kind of can from his pocket, removed a pin from the top of said can before tossing it into the shed. A couple seconds later, there was a whizzing noise, then a loud hum and flames began to sprout from beneath the furniture where the can had rolled.

"Whzat are you doin'…"

_Thud Thud._

There were two faint, muffled noises, and a sharp pain in Mundungus Fletcher's chest, and he suddenly found himself unable to breathe properly. He briefly wondered how the Muggles had modified their handguns to suppress the deafening firing sound, but was dead before he had time to figure out the concept of a silencer.

-x-

Albus (etc) Dumbledore (etc) sat heavily in his armchair, behind his desk, popped a lemon drop into his mouth before letting his head rest on his palms, elbows on the table. The Welcoming Feast had been…a long Welcoming Feast. First the Sorting Hat had recalled a history Lesson and given a warning against the very future of the school.

"For our Hogwarts is in danger  
From external, deadly foes…"(1)

And then, under the pretence of standing up for an optimal education, the proclamation by Madam Umbridge of her allegiance to the backward-looking principles of the pureblood agenda.

"progress for progress's sake must be discouraged" or "Let us move forward, then, into a new era of openness, effectiveness and accountability, intent on preserving what ought to be preserved, perfecting what needs to be perfected, and pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited."

And last but not least, there was the somewhat tense atmosphere amongst the students. A seat had been left empty at the Slytherin Table, where the missing Vincent Crabbe, killed in a gruesome way in plain sight in Knockturn Alley by an unknown spell had been quite traumatic. Of course, there was another empty seat at the Gryffindor Table, where Harry Potter had nibbled at his food without entering conversation with anyone. He had observed the unsuccessful attempts of the youngest Weasleys to cheer the boy up, while carefully avoiding any eye contact with him. In a sense, it was not so bad. The Boy-Who-Lived had survived the summer, a Dementor attack and a full scale trial in front of the Wizengamot. He was in perfect shape for the role fate had designed for him in the future. Of course it was unfair. As it was unfair to deprive the Magical Society of such a brilliant brain as Miss Granger's, but well, it was collateral damage. Had the girl been a pureblood, he would have researched another way to remove her from the picture, or at least from the centre. But as a Muggleborn, she would have never been allowed to fulfil her potential, so the loss was not so great. And the Muggle world would give her better opportunities. Unless her Magic would kill her on render her insane. If the Voldemort affair was solved quickly enough, he might even check on her, as a kind of pet project. Document her physical and mental health. Such an experiment had never been done, and it might help handling difficult cases. Yes it might be useful for cases like Ariana's, his beloved sister.

He shuddered to the idea of the relationship between her and the Boy. Thanks to his warding of the Hospital Wing, he had been informed about her visit during the night, and genuinely shocked. In a fit of enthusiasm, the youngest Weasley might have sneaked to the Boy to give him this kind of comfort. But Granger? _Prefect_ Granger? There's this rumour with 'Brainy ones', and he had been taken by surprise.

He groaned. And Ginevra Weasley was not showing interest in the Boy anymore, besides a real friendship. In fact, she was acting as a better friend than her brother, whose self-esteem issues were taking control of his lousy mind. More things to watch carefully. Being the Leader of the Light was sometimes a burden.

Yes, removing Granger was for all the best thing to do.

What had puzzled him was Harry Potter's reaction, or lack thereof. He looked down, as expected, but had not been baited by Draco Malfoy, not for lack of trying. Apparently, all the insults proffered by the Slytherin Playboy had been handled smartly, almost without spell casting – beside the silencing and locking of a compartment door – but with a steady flow of styled insults, in a rather good impression of the Pureblood tradition of the Battle of Words, where the humiliation of the opponent was the goal, a more socially effective way of handling things. Killing another pureblood was not good for genealogy, but bringing him down a peg or two…Who had coached the Boy? Sirius Black? Preposterous! The Headmaster reasoned that he should restrict Harry Potter's access to number twelve's library before he learned too much.

"Albus! Albus, are you there?"

He was jerked from his musings by a Floo call.

"Kingsley? What's the matter?"

"I'm at Headquarters. We have a situation here."

A couple of minutes later, Dumbledore was led by Kingsley Shacklebolt into the back garden of Headquarters, in front of the smouldering remains of an outbuilding and the half charred corpse of Mundungus Fletcher.

"Burned to ashes. Fiendfyre?" wondered Dumbledore out loud.

"No. A Muggle device. Do you recognise the smell?" replied Shacklebolt.

"Hm, you're right. Like Petrol. And gunpowder?"

"Yes. A Muggle incendiary device. It might have been one of Dung's little businesses gone awry. His wand is still in his belt, and I did not find any evidence of someone entering the house."

"No trace of magic?"

"Not a single one."

"What was in there?"

"Junk, mostly. A few discarded bits of stuff from the house."

"Well, Mundungus' death is for sure a blow, he had a unique insight into some circles of our society. Try and reinforce our network, you should be able to strike a bargain with some of his colleagues." said Dumbledore before Disapparating.

The old scoundrel would have to settle for these words as a funeral oration.

-x-

On Sunday morning, Hermione went for a long run upstream Colorado, then spent a whole hour lifting weights and manhandling machines, and nonetheless managed to be one of the first to be in the cafeteria for breakfast, even though almost the whole student body had now settled in. Well, on the other hand, it was not surprising, since there had been a warm up and welcoming party in a club, very late into the night.

She ate quietly, flipping through the week-end edition of the newspaper, then went back to her room with another mug of coffee. She had just switched her laptop on when someone knocked at her door. She opened to see an elf levitating a huge package.

"This was just delivered for you, Miss Sophie." stated the elf.

She thanked him, pointing to a place in her room where he could put the package. Once the elf gone, she tore the wrapping off. "Oh my God!"

She felt on her knees, hands slowly caressing the wood of her trunk. Then picked off a folded note stapled on the lid.

_Kitten, _

_We were paying a visit to the Old Place you mentioned once. We found it a bit Grim, but eventually convinced a shabby individual to show us a place with many hidden treasures, including this one belonging to you, so we found it fitting to send it back._

_We plan to pay you a visit very soon, but we couldn't let you be without these souvenirs any longer._

_H.+S._

_PS: we also convinced the helpful – if unwilling – individual above to never disclose any information about our visit. I guess we went 'ballistic' in our arguments – twice – to make sure he will never disclose anything to anyone. _

She opened the trunk, surveying the contents. They were carefully packaged, but it was not her usual organization. She was ready to grab the first notebook on the pile when she was stopped by the still fresh memory of some gaudy trophy turned Portkey. She rolled her chair in front of her desk and logged into IRC to call for the Charms Teacher, who was online. It took a few keystrokes and a couple minutes for Julie Martin, the thirty something charms mistress from east coast – blonde, very waspish – to knock at the door.

"Hey, Sophie. Is this the thing?" she asked, pointing at the trunk.

Hermione nodded.

She began casting detection charms all over the trunk, without pausing. Satisfied, she began levitating books, folders, and clothes out, renewing her tests. Hermione's heart tightened when her wand rose out of the luggage to land softly on the table.

She watched it intensely, before extending a shy hand. After a pause, she grabbed firmly the handle, muttering "so what?" To her surprise, she caught the familiar feeling of reconnection. Even off-tune, it was there, and she pushed what she could in to the channel, and was rewarded by an unexpected spray of sparks.

"Yeah!" cheered the Charms Teacher.

Beaming, Hermione swished and flicked towards her battered copy of "Hogwarts: a History." levitating it a couple inches above the table for ten seconds, before letting it land with a loud thump.

"It's tiring…" she whispered.

Julie grabbed her in a one-armed hug. "It's great. You've made tremendous progresses by yourself. You'll get at least half your magic back in three weeks."

Hermione nodded. _Three weeks._

-x-

In an undisclosed location in Devon, the Cat stirred. Yesterday, some the boisterous people had come back from where they had disappeared to a few weeks ago, but they were barely acknowledging him. The Stupid Ball of Feathers had flown in, and after seriously considering a kill, the Cat decided spare the useless bird. The faint presence had suddenly reinforced itself, and triggered the memory of another place, and the Cat decided a move was in order. Without a glance, he made his way between trees and bushes towards the nearest village, where he would be able to wait for an opportunity.

-x-

Hermione found herself slightly nervous on Monday morning. She had woken up at four, and at five she was six or seven miles away, running eastwards, facing a chilly drizzle, trying to exhaust her angst. It was close to lunchtime in Hogwarts, and in four hours, classes would start in MS-square, and all her uncertainties, plus the new ones, were hitting her with full force. She reached the top of the mesa after fifty minutes of intense running, legs burning and lungs on fire. The sun had not risen yet, and the desert was silent. She trotted again, slightly towards the south, until a vision startled her. There, twenty feet from her, a shape was lying on a dead tree. The shape of a huge feline, strangely luminescent.

"You look like a Patronus." she whispered, trembling. She was suddenly shivering from the cold moisture, and the exhaustion,. She did a few steps forward, examining the…thing. "What are you? A puma?" she tried to read it by analogy with Crookshanks' body language, without success. Common sense would have made her back from the creature, but she was driven closer and closer by the magic she could feel radiating, at such a level she barely noticed other echoes. Faint echoes, like long lasting remains of past powers…

"Where am I?" she asked out loud in a strangled voice.

"You are where you are meant to be" declared the feline, before jumping from his branch and morphing in mid-air into a human with Indian features, rather short but very muscular, still looking by all aspects like a Patronus.

"Are you a ghost? And those echoes of Magic I feel…"

"I'm a free spirit; I have been for a thousand seasons or more" The…ghost – for lack of better name – shrugged. "Unless I'm just a figment of your imagination, because you have so many questions and so little time. I don't know myself. You could have slipped on a wet slab and died after a terrible fall, or I am merely conjured by matching energies, those of the site, or a feline Animagus form we share through the ages, or you are dead drunk in a ditch. Or a little bit of all. Time will tell."

Then, the apparition vanished.

At this moment, the first ray of the rising sun peeked over the horizon, and under the low clouds, startling her. Her breathing was condensing. She touched tentatively the tree, feeling residual magic. She straddled the trunk, mimicking the attitude of the puma, finding some elation whenever she managed to put her chakras in contact with the wood. The voice of common sense was berating her for her inconsequence, until it was silenced by a remarkable orgasm when her seventh chakra made contact with a convenient bulge of the wood. It took two or three minutes to find the position uncomfortable, and the wind now blowing steadily was worsening things. She stood up, stretching her legs for the downhill run, and left. Somewhere behind a rock, the silhouette of a puma watched her until she disappeared behind a rise on the ground, before shimmering away.

-x-

"Hiya, Sophie, ready for the Great Day?"

She dropped herself on the vacant seat on the table, her hair still damp from the quick shower.

"Hey, guys" she replied, hurrying to get her breakfast.

"Don't tell me you were out for a run again this morning!" fussed Ray.

"Don't ask me where I spent my night, I won't ask you which questionable area of the Internet you wandered into during yours."

The usual banter between Hermione and the resident nerd raised a few chuckles out of habit. Hermione, the long-time bookworm, enjoyed it a lot: being teased for morning runs instead of late nights in the library was a nice novelty.

"I went up Sand Flats, and returned by the longer loop, Castle Valley and the river, because the slabs were awfully slippery with the rain."

John raised an eyebrow. "The Longer Loop?"

"How much longer than the long loop is the longer loop? Because long loop doesn't sound appealing to me. No, forget it, I never asked." said Ray.

"Eight miles." replied John.

"That's not much for you guys"

"Eight _more_ miles." emphasized John. "That makes it a bit more than twenty miles overall."

Ray rolled his eyes, but Hermione didn't notice, she was too busy eating her second thousand calories serving. She was a growing girl, wasn't she?

They didn't linger in the cafeteria, heading to their rooms to pack their schoolbags. Without the never-ending corridors and time-wasting moving staircases littering Hogwarts, it was not necessary to pack for the whole day, and a trip to your room between classes was easy. On this point, Hermione was eager to get enough magic back to train for apparition, which was not prevented by the school wards. She found herself in the fifth year conference room with minutes to spare.

That was another novelty. Each year had its own room, and teachers would move from room to room: it was after all easier and faster for a single teacher to cross a corridor, than a dozen students. In fact, it was far simpler to move ten teachers than eighty students.

Hermione sighed. A classroom. "Here goes nothing…" she whispered, pondering a seating choice.

"Eighteen seats and we are twelve. Pick your own…"

Hermione carefully eyed Jolene Raimondi, whom she had compared with Lavender Brown, for she had never seen her without makeup and jewellery. She had even heard her talking about waterproof glosses. But on this occurrence, as she was ready to roll her eyes in the contemptuous fashion of the intellectual alpha, she had heard statements on surface tensors and found herself mortified. Not only this tart was gorgeous, but she was smart enough to make Hermione Granger feel challenged. So far, they had settled for a polite but vigilant companionship.

After all, in the magical world, things are not always what they seem.

Moreover in Moab School for Magical Studies.

-x-

_Hogwarts, Prof. Mc Gonagall's office_.

"She is your teacher and has every right to give you detention. You will go to her room at five o'clock tomorrow for the first one. Just remember: tread carefully around Dolores Umbridge."

"But I was telling the truth!" said Harry, outraged. "Voldemort is back, you know he is, Professor Dumbledore knows he is…"

"For heaven's sake, _Harry_!" cut McGonagall, emphasizing her use of the first name. "It's a matter of self preservation! She is after your blood, mine, Professor Dumbledore's and whoever stands in the way of her delusions! We have suffered enough losses so far."

Harry felt a coldness, worth all the Dementors of Azkaban seizing him. "What losses, Professor?"

The transfiguration teacher closed her eyes. Harry swallowed with difficulty. The biscuit was weighing a ton in his stomach. "Professor McGonagall? Please?"

He swallowed again, before whispering in a barely controlled voice. "Tell me what happened to Hermione…"

McGonagall did not answer.

"Please, Professor…"

She closed her eyes in a grimace that looked a lot as she was trying to hold back tears. "I don't know…"

"How can't you…"

"I. Do. Not. Know. All I know is that she was withdrawn from Hogwarts. I don't know why, I don't know by whom, I don't even know if she has transferred in another magical school or left the magical world…The only information Albus gave me is that her parents were supposed to move to one of the colonies…"

Harry stayed silent, unable to trust his voice.

"I tried to investigate, sending owls at my friends abroad. She's not in Salem, not in Darwin College in Australia…". She took her glasses off to wipe them on a handkerchief. "Be careful, Harry. I beg you…"

Harry closed his eyes, exhaled sharply. "I will, Professor."

"You won't fight her?"

He shook his head. "I won't confront her"

"Will you be all right?"

He shrugged. "No, but it's not like I'm untrained in the matter, is it? The Story of my Life."

-x-

Some habits are not so hard to kill, after all. Jumping frantically with a raised hand amongst a bored bunch of lousy classmates is easier to get rid of when the said classmates are no longer lousy, but focused and quick thinkers. Being academically challenged was a novelty for Hermione and it was thrilling. The day had started with a charms course, focused on Theory of Magic, a field of study barely grazed in Hogwarts, and she would not have grasped the concept without the exploration of her bindings. Now, she was studying the theory of magical focuses, and her weak interaction with her wand was fascinating. Her charms period with Julie Martin was followed by the Magical Writings course ("M-dub") with Theodore Makeya who spent two hours outlining the concept of "Gesture", the psychoanalytic interpretation in the wand movements – raising some loud sniggering with a reference to _wand polishing_ – and the similarities between wand movements and recurrent shapes in magical writings, ancient runes and glyphs. That was fascinating, connected with history and sociology, explaining beyond the techniques how magecraft had been shaped since the early users to the modern wizard.

-x-

The Cat was pissed off.

He had trotted to the closest village, and after a full day of careful observation, managed to worm his way into a van to get a lift to London. In London, he had walked for ten miles or so avoiding dogs, children and the pound, to find a bloody damned closed down fucking house – because he had quite the vocabulary when properly motivated. He was exhausted, famished and dirty: make that double pissed off. So he paced the garden, checking scents, double checking the house: yeah, definitely the good one. He could recognize the faint presence of His Witch, of the other humans related to Her, and a couple more. Even...yes, the Beard had been there too, he was too powerful to stay inconspicuous, and the Cat was having a bad feeling about this.

He decided to follow the fresher tracks, trotting for some hundred _more _yards on the pavement, until reaching a house in a less expensive area, but nonetheless very welcoming. And the scents were all there. Including His Witch's. _Bingo!_ He found a cat-flap – at last, someone had manners – to enter, very carefully. There was a single person in the house. A magical, undoubtedly, and she reminded her of one of His Witch's roommates. He wondered if she was another litter? No, she was too much older, but nonetheless very attractive: she radiated calm and trustworthiness. Well, he was quite certain a human male would have found her very attractive, but it was not relevant. The Dog Human, for instance, might have liked her.

Or not, he had not a great taste, after all.

Lost in his reasoning, he did not notice when the woman saw him, but froze to the surprise and unexpected happiness on her face. She observed him and whispered tentatively, "Crookshanks?"

-x-

The Social Sciences period, filling the whole afternoon on Mondays, had also been a novelty. It was basically History, Magic and Muggle, plus a civilization course, focused on Muggle for the magicals and on magical traditions for the Muggleborn or raised. One of the key objectives of the course was to narrow the cultural gap between both origins. The teacher, Chirine El Jelloul, was born in southern Algeria from Tuareg nomads, raised in France and had attended Beauxbâtons before moving to America in the seventies.

And so it went. On Wednesday morning, Hermione was really becoming to set into a routine. She was back from her morning run, heading to breakfast after a shower, when Venus called her, waving an envelope. She grabbed it, filled her tray, opening it while drinking a fruit juice. Inside the envelope were a sheet of paper and another envelope.

The letter was from her mother:

_Kitten,_

_This was routed with our mail from over there. Sam checked it, it bears no suspect traces._

_Kisses, Mum._

She studied the envelope, her Muggle address in London, written in an _oh so _familiar scrawl, she breathed slowly with a happy smile, eyes closed. She cut the envelope open and pulled out the letter, written on paper with a fountain pen, it seemed. The familiar scrawl was neater than usual.

_Hermione, _

_I don't know if this letter will reach you. I don't know where you are, there were rumours about holidays abroad, and we did not see you shopping in the Alley. And you weren't at the place we stayed this summer – Snuffle's Family House. I began to really worry when I learned that Lavender Brown (?) was prefect (with Ron, make that a double '?') and not you. I can't understand why McGonagall would name Lavender prefect…unless you declined the position (triple '?') or dropped Hogwarts. Now, we'll be boarding the Express in a few hours, and I have still no news, and I'm panicking. _

_How will I survive in Hogwarts without you? How will I survive (period) without you? It sounds selfish, doesn't it? I guess it is. But, well: Voldemort is out there, after my blood, and nobody seems to give a damn. Dumbledore avoids me like plague, the so-called Grown-ups (from Remus Lupin to Molly Weasley) give me the mushroom treatment (kept in the dark, fed with s*) - even if I am (triple underline) the one who faced Voldemort four (quadruple underline to match) times and lived to tell the tale) - and Snuffles…well, he's rather pathetic as the substitute father figure he pretends to be._

_I love him dearly for what he is, he represents (as the closest thing to a real family) and his goodwill, but he swings from childish to depressed. Remus is overprotective, and I wonder if he wouldn't prefer locking me in a glass cabinet (or maybe a freezer) to ensure that the last tie to his happy years was preserved. Or what? Oh, and I met a two Aurors: there's the Senior, a very impressive black man, and the Junior, one of Snuffle's cousins (in fact, her mother is the oldest sister of Malfoy's mother, who was born Black but disowned for marrying a Muggleborn. She packs quite a punch magically and is a Metamorphmagus, awesome. She was in seventh year Hufflepuff when we were firsties. And she might have a crush on Remus. _

_I have second thoughts about the Twins. I gave them the Triwizard money to fund their business, and they operate it by mail. They have a 'the end justifies the means' streak I don't really endorse. And don't lecture me on the 'you are filthy rich so don't know what it is to be short on money' (that's Ron line), because before I had a glimpse of my vault, my total savings topped at eighty pence. In fact, they might very well be jerks. _

_Ginny is nice enough – enough to make complete sentences and act naturally, it's a relief – while Ron is just bearable. His pratiness has reached new levels this summer. I miss the good old wasting time carelessly, but chess and Quidditch don't overwhelm Dark Lords, so we had some arguments regarding the time I spent in Sirius' house's Library. You'd love it, by the way!_

_You are not "Books and Cleverness", Hermione. You are far more than that. You are a bright, balanced, caring, witty, and my anchor for these last four years. I'd have been killed (or worse: expelled) without you. _

_I hope you're reading this letter at breakfast in the Great Hall or in the common room. I hope to see you nibbling on your lower lip as you try to make sense of my ramblings. I swear they make sense, at least one: I *do* love you, more than anything. _

_And if you aren't reading this in Hogwarts, at least I pray whatever can be prayed you are well; I don't care for anything else. _

_Love_

_Harry. _

Wow.

"Life sucks?"

Hermione raised her eyes, blinked away a rogue tear, carefully folding the letter, tried a shy smile towards John and Sue-Ann, who where setting themselves at her table, and then shrugged.

"No. It doesn't" she said "But not for lack of trying."

A/N

(1) Hat and Umbridge's words are, of course, Verbatim from JKR's OotP, Chapter 11.


	7. Aiming High, sort of

The still rookie scribe jumped, startled, and reflexively hit a set of keys to vanish the open document in a secluded folder of a removable disk. Only then, he looked at the individual who had entered the office and was relieved to see that was his boss and not Professor McGonagall. He was dreading her visit, since numerous reports from his esteemed colleague Old-Crow had demonstrated the sharp no-nonsense attitude of Hogwarts' Deputy Headmistress. He was safe, so he opened the document titled 'SRW Chapter 7' to dutifully explain that the Harry Potter universe was under copyright, own by J. and al. Adding that no money was made out of this work, he took a couple more lines to point out that Taylor1991's "Blind Faith" was, under ffn reference 5986917, an interesting piece of work, still in process, but nonetheless interesting.

Chapter 7 – Aiming High, sort of.

Jolene Raimondi and Sue-Ann Prince had taken on the habit of training together on ergo bikes three times a week early in the morning, since many months, when they were both recovering from minor injuries. At first, when Sue-Ann had transferred from Salem, they had been distant to each other, seemingly unable to deal with a latent rivalry between Starting Miss Vegas 1990 and Little Miss Sunshine 1988. Confined in the training room on Maureen orders together had helped opening up, and their common past in cattle shows - as they now dubbed those childhood exhibitions - had eventually brought them close. It had been a mutual comprehension, and ultimately a real friendship. One of those sessions was taking place before breakfast on Saturday morning, and this first Saturday back to school was no exception. They were sweating side by side, facing the Green River at sunrise in the fitness centre, when Jolene suddenly noticed something unusual.

"Sue, look over there. That's an early runner…"

"Looks familiar. It's the real-time view, isn't it?"

"As far as I know…he's fast."

"_She_ is fast. Like, almost ten?"

The runner, undoubtedly female, was actually coming close to the viewpoint, running quite fast, without any apparent effort.

"Isn't that Sophie?" asked Sue a couple minutes later.

"Geez, yeah. When did she leave, to be down by the Green River so early?"

"Well, I reckon she's at ten miles per hour, if she left at four, she can be…"

"Holly shit, she's fast."

"I wonder what she's chasing…or running from"

"Dunno. She's a nice enough girl."

"Yeah. She's something" concluded Sue-Ann, before emphasizing "_Sophie_".

-x-

The sun was high in the sky when Hermione reached MS Square, in a daze, overloaded with endorphins. She dropped her backpack on the terrace, and while stretching, debriefed her run. Five hours and some minutes, for running almost two marathons with thousands of feet uphill.

Okay, she had been training daily for two months, but she was Hermione the Bookworm, for heaven's sake! She was tempted to freak out.

She completed her stretching routine, picked her bag and ran upstairs, undressed quickly, dropping her clothes in the laundry basket. She smiled seeing on her body some kind of tan lines made of red dust stuck on sweat. She was using her little bathroom later than usual, and instead of the ceiling spots, she was lit by the sunlight through the little window, and she found herself considering her body in a new light, literally speaking, and her eyebrows shot up. She had never considered herself fat, she even knew her BWI was perfectly fine, thank you very much. Now, the little fat she could have had had vanished, and each move of her arms could be analysed by the visible contraction of the shoulder muscles. And lower, the outline of her abdominal muscles was spectacular. She could not see her legs, and she was up to return to check them in the bedroom's foot mirror, before deciding for a shower first, to avoid staining the whole room with dirt.

Once scrubbed, she dressed quickly, swallowed a protein drink an a couple fruit, before heading to Louis Bellerive's office, grabbing a mug of coffee on her way.

She had just settled herself in one of the chairs when somebody else knocked at the door.

"Come in"

Bellerive's face lit up when he spotted the newcomer and he almost apparated across the office.

"Tâte mes roustons, nom de nom!" he yelled.

"C'est pas de la merde, sacrénom!"(1) replied a familiar voice.

Sam's.

_Sam?_

"Sam!" she jumped out of her seat to engulf him in a hug.

"Wow! you should be out for a run to spend this energy!"

Hermione's smile faded at once. "Actually, I'm _back_ from a run. I did the circuit around Isle in the Sky this morning"

"And you're already back? How fast?"

"Five hours ten."

"Five ten? You're kidding!"

"No. that's what I wanted to talk about with Louis. There are things I don't understand, Sam. I've not grown up a couch potato, but I never was a tomboy before…so I don't understand. It might be a side effect on the magical bindings, or…" she tugged at the hem of her T-shirt and pulled it up, pointing to her abs: "look at _that!_"

Sam cocked his head.

"Er…wow?"

"Oh, please?"

"You do know that the whole female population of America would give her first born for your belly?"

"That's not the point…you…that's not _me_!"

"Well, now it is" interrupted Louis Bellerive. "_Sophie_, we will look into those changes together, they are likely related to the trauma you experienced and the change of environment. Am I mistaken, or are you academically challenged here?"

"Well…" she paused "Jolene and Sue-Ann are good, yes, and John even, and Ray is quick and…agile? Yes, it's different"

"You see. Everything has changed. So many triggers pulled at the same time. Magic is inherently chaotic. When you meddle with its built in adjusting processes, moreover in a stressful situation, many undocumented feedback loop are involved. Just let them be and don't go in overdrive…"

"And there's a reason for my visit." said Sam. "Someone who went at considerable length to find you"

Hermione looked at Sam quizzically, before noticing a grumpy figure peeking out of a basket. "Crookshanks!"

The cat seemed to light up. _My Witch!_

Hermione kneeled in front of the cat, which began to rub his face against her skin, purring loudly. "Where did you find him?"

"Actually, he did find us. He appeared on Monday at Ayesha's. Our guess is he made his way home and followed whatever track he found to her house".

Hermione pulled Crookshanks in her arms. She could feel his magic, the pulsation of the half-kneazle energy, the fierce protectiveness and indefectible loyalty, and a tender attachment. It was an overwhelming emotion. She closed her eyes and hugged the cat closer.

_My Witch. She's not the same but she's more than ever My Witch. I feel good_.

Sam cleared his throat and asked, "Hot Lips forwarded you a letter. Was it from…?"

Hermione nodded. "I don't know how to answer. But I know I must. It's just…" she scowled. "How are things over yonder?"

"Ugly. Fudge has put one of his cronies in Hogwarts, as the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. One Dolores Umbridge, a world-class bitch. According to the gossip network, the Potter boy landed a week worth detentions for confronting her on Voldemort's return. She managed to properly shut him from the other students within the week. Of course, her teaching is worthless. She just makes them learn an outdated textbook by heart without any practice. The Prophet has a free leash on Potter and Dumbledore and uses it without restraint."

She winced.

"Be very careful when you try and get in touch"

"I think I have a plan"

-x-

Harry Potter pulled his Firebolt to a stop at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, resting it on a tree, before sitting on a stump, looking distractedly at Hagrid's hut, the castle and the forest…Suddenly, the noise of autumn leaves being crushed by hooves caught his attention. Two of those reptilian looking horses – or horse-looking dragons, whatever – he had seen pulling the carriage on September 1st were coming his way, stopping at safe distance. After a round of observation, the youngest came close enough to be petted. Almost reluctantly, Harry put a tentative hand on its neck. Despite the feeling of skin on bones, it was covered with a light fur, smooth an reassuring.

"You're not ugly, just misunderstood, aren't you?" he whispered.

"They are called Thestrals. You can only see them if you've seen someone dying"

Harry looked around. "Luna?"

"Hello, Harry Potter"

"Hello, Luna Lovegood"

She came closer, pulled a piece of raw meat from a bag, and held it to the animal who began nibbling on it.

"How come you and I can see them?"

"You can see a Thestral only if you've seen someone's death. I saw my mum's when I was seven."

"Oh. Sorry to learn that, Luna"

"Yes. Well, you saw Cedric Diggory die, didn't you?"

Harry nodded wordlessly, and they watched the Thestrals in companionable silence. Then, Luna kissed Harry on the cheek and left with a spring in her footsteps. He stood up, reluctantly picked his broom and flew to the castle. He packed the Firebolt under his bed, and collected his school bag. He was far behind with his homework due to the time spent in detention and had no more time to waste. After surveying the common room, he could not find a place to blend in and went to the library. _That's what Hermione would do…She would make a list, sort by deadline and importance, and work accordingly. _He swore to himself to search for an homework planner like she had been using and settled to work.

He barely made it to dinner, eventually found a notebook in his trunk, which would be an acceptable planner until he could visit Scrivenshaft's in Hogsmeade, and headed back to the library, claiming Hermione's favourite table for himself. As the evening was progressing, his scar started prickling again, like after all those dreams of long corridors and locked doors. He willed these thoughts away, but they wouldn't go, so he settled himself for blanking his mind, thinking of the still waters of the Lake, and was surprised to feel the pain in his forehead recede.

-x-

"Come _on_, Sophie, that's the Back to School Night. _Party Time!_"

Hermione swore inwardly. Sue-Ann and Jolene were both in Parvati/Lavender mode, already dressed in rather short skirts and heels, with fitting tops and makeup, and bouncing like _teens_ going out to _party._ Well, that was the idea.

So she found herself, nursing a bottle of beer wondering who had confounded the bartenders – how a sixteen-year old could get alcohol in Utah, for god's sake! – at Jolly Jumper's(2), a bar close to the river, no longer than an hour later. There was loud music, some more alcohol and a few other dubious substances.

"Having a great time?"

"Not so bad, John" she replied, clinking her bottle with his, before adding: "But not as good as Ray's, hey?"

John shrugged. "Dunno. Those nerds have social issues and look for the answer in alcohol"

"You know I was classified as such before"

"A nerd?"

"Sort of. Bookworm, bookish, know-it-all…a _nightmare. _Honestly." She said bitterly.

"Well, I can understand, I've seen you working. But have they seen you climbing?"

She chuckled: "_mental that one_, or something like that. Why would you want to climb when you can apparate, levitate or use a broom? That's a pointless activity"

"It is, unlike Quidditch, chasing balls in mid-air…" said John with a laugh. "Well, we're witches and wizards, blending in a town living on outdoor activities…it helps…"

"Some have an easier time blending in…" she said, pointing to Ray who was now shaking haphazardly in the middle of the dance floor, to the amusement of the gathered patrons.

"Well, Ray sure has an outstanding way to blend in" said John.

Hermione drank the remainder of her beer in one large swig, stood up and held a hand towards him, "Wanna dance?"

John looked at her, bewildered.

She shrugged. "If you can't beat 'em, join 'em," she deadpanned, as an explanation.

They blended in cautiously until reaching their quota of party time for the evening, and left through the streets in companionable silence.

"I saw you in town with Gaagi Lightfoot the other day…not that I'm curious, but I just wonder why you seemed so familiar. I mean, I know him as a lecturer in duelling and such."

"Oh. Yeah. He's one of my dad's friend. The army."

"I heard he was in the Seals."

"And Dad was in the British SAS. He's my godfather."

"That explains a lot. Including the handgun you're carrying each time you leave the school grounds."

Hermione checked the H&K in the hip holster. "Yep, and he brought me back my cat"

"Oh, the orange thing I saw on your balcony? Is that a real cat?"

Hermione laughed. "Half Kneazle. Smart as hell, a menace."

They walked in silence along the closed shops, echoes of their footsteps on the pavement.

Some blocks later, John spoke again. "I know I'm prying, but, well…your transfer from Britain seems…hectic."

"Don't ask…"

"I won't." he said after a pause.

"Thanks."

They didn't exchange another word until they reached their destination, where they said goodnight and headed to their respective rooms. Hermione undressed and slid under her covers, Crookshanks cuddling with her contentedly. "Sleep well, Crookshanks. I'm so happy to have you back"

She quickly fell asleep to the gentle purr of the cat. She would only notice the next day that since the arrival of her familiar, she had managed to go to sleep without the need to thoroughly _blow off some steam_.

_Sleep well, My Witch. _

-x-

Harry dived and turned sharply to barrel roll around Cho Chang. It had been planned as a sort of gallant move to balance the advantage of his broom's superior thrust but only distracted her and the ball evaded him while Ginny Weasley scored against her brother. He had spent the morning in the library polishing a potions essay and reviewing his transfiguration, and had barely made it to lunch, to Ron's dismay. In order to soothe his friend, he had suggested a pick-up game in the afternoon, raising the interest of some Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. They had scratched two teams mixing more or less evenly players from the three houses. He checked the time: he still had a foot of history to write and some things to double-check, and he wanted to spend time with Hedwig. Cho chose this time to dive. He followed suit, aiming for a catch when the snitch suddenly changed direction. He avoided Angelina and a bludger out of sheer luck, while the Ravenclaw Seeker was trying to climb, and she collided harshly with Ginny's broom. Harry instinctively shot his hand to grab Cho, ignoring the snitch.

"Okay there?" he asked, hanging upside-down, hands fastened with the Asian's girl.

"Err…yes, I guess…" she replied.

The snitch chose this moment to hover between them, and she grabbed it.

Harry watched her with saucer-like eyes for a second of so, before chuckling, then laughing out loud. "I guess you won!"

He straightened, pulling her up and she sat side-saddle in front of him. He manoeuvred to the ground and the players gathered around, congratulating themselves on a good game. Many were pleased to see Cho relax for the first time in weeks, and Harry himself had a weird lingering sensation after holding her close. He checked his watch and headed to the castle. He had homework to finish, and well, however nice a feeling Cho's body could be, well…he was longer wished to win a tournament for her. She was not his Hermione, almost a capital sin…

-x-

It was a fun place.

In the maze of geological structures created by the joint action of water, wind and temperature changes around the Colorado, each day brought new shapes, views, sensations…Today was no exception. John had caught Hermione on her way from the Potion lab to lunch, and they had decided for an impromptu picnic, joined by Jolene and Sue Ann who had to fix their complexions after the shortened night. John brought them to a secluded spot a few miles towards the Arches, where a fresh stream ran from a small gorge. Even if they could hear echoes of the traffic on the State road, they were feeling alone and the world was theirs. John was eager to show – and show off – the bouldering spot.

Hermione was becoming fond of Bouldering, this style of climbing emphasizing power, strength, and dynamics, normally limited to very short climbs, focusing on individual moves or short sequences of moves. Her newfound stamina and endurance were doing wonders in traditional climbing over long stretches of rock, but she enjoyed the greater difficulty of individual moves. After all, boulder routes are commonly referred to as problems – for the climb is often short, curious, and much like problem solving – and solving problems had always been her darling sin.

When they returned to grab water and rest their forearms, she watched him getting an eyeful of the very revealing attire of their sunbathing friends. She patted herself on the back: buying on a whim this kinky - in her opinion - triathlon top a few days ago was a token of normalcy. _Good job, Hermione._

-x-

"Mr Potter, the library should be closed. I almost locked you in!"

Harry was pulled from his reading by Madam Pince's voice.

"Sorry, Ma'am. I guess I lost track of time"

"Well, I cannot blame you, can I?" she said with a smile.

"It's just I'm not used to shooing you out of here"

He felt the shadow of regret on the librarian's face.

"That used to be Hermione's privilege…"

Her expression darkened. "Yes, it was. Have you heard from her? It's a shame, really, she was such a pleasant student."

He shook his head negatively, packing his things.

The librarian leaned on a bookshelf. "Her dedication reminded me of your mother, you know. Lily Evans was such a bright witch, curious, dedicated."

Harry paused and made eye contact.

"You've been reminding me of her lately, Harry"

He winced. He had been considering for some time the whole world's expectations for him to be a clone of his father, Quidditch prodigy and all. Her mother's eyes were just accessory. _Except your eyes, you have you mother's eyes._ But near-sighted like his father. _Eyes of the father, unwillingly given…_He shook his head. _Get a grip, Potter!_

"Yes" he eventually replied. "I feel like I've given enough tribute to my father playing Quidditch and I need to grow up to live to my mother's expectations."

"See you do so." replied the librarian, closing the doors behind him.

_After all_ he mused _She likely saved my life, not dad. _

Walking back hurriedly to Gryffindor Tower, he wondered if Hermione had received his letter, trying to guess how long it might take, depending on her location.

"Maybe I should send Hedwig…" he wondered.

The common room was rather crowded, despite the late hours. The twins were plotting with some first and second years, probably stuff related to the "Gallons of Galleons" – _his_ Galleons – they had promised to test subjects. _Something a prefect Granger would not have allowed_, he mused. He was close to have second thoughts on his impulse to fund their business. Sure, the wizarding world was in dire need of some laughs, but, the way they were half buying, half bullying first and second years into becoming guinea pigs was annoying.

He shrugged, and noticed Neville working alone at a table and went join him to complete his reading. It was only when seated that he realized that Neville had claimed Hermione's usual table, just like himself had done in the library.

"Hey, Neville"

"Hey, Harry, the library closed?"

"Yeah. Was kicked out by Pince"

"Late with transfiguration?"

"No, done. Just reading in a quiet place"

"Know what you mean." mumbled Neville as a yelp rose from the Weasley corner, before frowning at the essay he was proofreading "As if this stuff was not lacking sense."

"What about?"

"Matter to energy. Nobody did ever find an explanation on it. It's annoying. I mean, there are logical connection in potions between plant affinities and ingredient balance, but where do these rules come from? I mean, I understand the larger the object the more energy, it makes sense, but what is the rationale?"

"Matter is particles moving in the vacuum. Greek philosophers alleged this in fifth century BC and a Muggle named Einstein demonstrated it some decades ago. Now, for muggle scientists, matter is just energy. So transfiguration is just a skill to shape energy, or rather, reshape energy"

Neville fixed Harry with a blank stare, then whispered. "Now, I'm scared."

"Sorry?"

"I know you are Hermione Granger, but what have you done with Harry Potter's body?"

"I sold it to Cornelius Fudge, so he can feed his own private army of Heliopaths."

They laughed to their silliness, then Harry gestured towards Neville's essay. "I can have a look, if you like. Not that I'm foolproof…"

Neville nodded and Harry went through the essay, finding it rather well done, despite the obvious frustration on the axioms involved in theory. Harry had added an extra annex on Muggle science support to the axioms and they discussed it.

"The rule is quite simple." said Harry at some point, "Energy is related to mass by the speed of light."

"Bollocks!" said a voice behind them. "Light has no speed! Never had, never will."

"How come, Ron?" asked Harry, slightly annoyed.

"Well, everyone knows that!"

"Well, I'm quite certain it does. And even a finite one. It's been measured by Muggles three centuries ago, mate. A Dutch astronomer named…"

Ron laughed harder. "Measured the speed of the light? Mental, they are!" then, raised his eyebrow suggestively "You think too much, mate. Hey, listen: you still have a thing for Chang, haven't you? You should have caught the snitch instead of playing gentleman-saviour!"

Harry frowned, a bit disconcerted by the abrupt change of subject. "Well, it wouldn't have been safe to let her fall from a hundred feet onto the stands…"

Ron shrugged dismissively, "Nothing a good stay in Hospital Wing would not fix!"

"What about a spinal cord injury? It was a fucking pickup game!" said Harry, his voice rising with anger.

"A game is a game." replied Ron.

"You know what, Ron? You're a psycho when it comes to Quidditch!" Harry closed his eyes, exhaling soundly, before slamming his book shut and disappeared into their dorm.

-x-

Jolene and Sue-Ann had left while John and Hermione were still struggling with a vicious overhang. The sun was less aggressive now and they had spent time chatting on a slab, watching at the ever evolving scenery.

"I'm beginning to learn something here" said Hermione.

"What is it?"

"I'm learning to contemplate. I never spent time contemplating over there. Wherever you go, you can sit down and watch. Watch the clouds, the shadows moving and taking unexpected shapes, revealing the details of the site…you can watch the wind, moving the sand one grain at a time. If you stay still enough, you'll see the animals wandering around. Lizards, snakes, rodents. And if you listen to the Magic, you will feel the plants, the lingering presence of life…"

John observed her. Her eyes were closed, her breathing slow, her face almost expressionless, peaceful. He could not but stare. She was meditative and had lost her usual tenseness and was drop dead sexy. He eventually managed to detach his eyes from her breasts, amazingly shown off by this cute little top…after a long silence, he declared he was heading back to the sociology essay he had to complete.

"Mine is done." replied Hermione, opening her eyes "See you at dinner, I'll find my own way home."

She watched him pack quickly, and ride his bike down the delicate single track with his elegant technique and disappear at a turn of the gorge. She pondered her answer. _I'll find my own way back home._ A wave of sadness washed over her. Had she called MS Square _home_? Crap. Even if her parents had moved all her belongings in a very nice room in Boulder, she had just spent a night here and it didn't feel like _home_. She would not return in Britain in a foreseeable future. She wondered if she belonged somewhere at the time.

Now she was alone. She packed her things and hiked uphill, to a spot she had noticed. It was once again one of those pulls she was often experiencing, and this one led her to a forming arch. She stopped there, facing the skyline. She liked the scenery, the desert. Wary of leaving free leash of her instincts, she paced nervously for a while before sitting on a rock and trying to relax again.

"Oh, bugger off, Granger!" she admonished herself, closed her eyes, breathed deeply and undressed. Now, that's what she was eager to do for a while, and it was a nice feeling. She contemplated the feelings of the sun warmth and the light breeze on her naked skin, focused on the grain of the sandstone under her buttocks and soon felt into a meditative state. Eyes closed, she did not see the Puma shimmer into existence. But she knew it was there.

"Hey" she said, eyes still closed.

The puma cocked his head. She rose smoothly, walked close to it - him? - and stopped when she felt it close. She opened her eyes, and it brushed its head against her thigh, sending a shiver in some places and making goose bumps appear on her skin. The spirit slowly faded, leaving her in a weird, confused state. This would be borderline embarrassing to explain to Louis.

-x-

_Breathe in. One, two, three, four. Breathe out…_

Umbridge had been taunting Harry for a few minutes and he had managed to keep his temper in check, controlled breathing and stare fixed on a point above her shoulder.

_Dear Hermione, _

He had found that composing a letter in his mind was a good tactic to hold on.

_I don't know if you got the letter I sent by Muggle mail on Sept. 1st. Since I don't know where you are, I wrote to your parent's address with the hope it would be forwarded. _

He was looking forward the end of the class, to write it down. Hermione's absence was a pain far worse than the Pink Menace's quill.

_I know I should wait longer for an eventual answer, but I cannot. Things are__ getting worse here, even Defence is despicable. I do not enjoy being in Hogwarts, I just try and do the best of my time here: I work. Ironic, hm? It's quite laughable, actually. I've been back for ten days and I've claimed your old table in the library, only to be shooed away by Madam Pince herself when curfew comes. And guess what? Neville keeps your seat in the common room warm. _

-x-

_Dear Harry,_

_I've been procrastinating for days. Yes. I did. Me, Hermione J. Granger got your letter ages ago and I don't know how to answer it. So I'll be blunt and straightforward in case something happens. Something else happens._

_I've been fired from the British Magical world, likely because I love you. I don't really know why: because a Mudblood with the Boy-Who-Lived was a disturbing idea? To whom? Voldemor__t would have killed me and the Ministry would have found some cover story to show off. So who is left?_

_I was obliviated, my magic bound, and it still is, even if I work day a__fter day to undo the binding. I broke through the memory charm and I hope to get my magic back in a few days, using a ritual – yes, I know they do not sound compelling to you. If you get this letter, I'm likely dead or worse. I guess my last thought will be rage to be unable to come and help you out of this mess. Whatever happens, I'll never regret what we had together. You are my only true friend, the greatest wizard I ever met, the man I love._

_HJG. _

Technically, she would undergo the ritual in five days, but she was feeling better with this farewell letter out of her mind. She folded the sheet and sealed the envelope.

Then, she left her room, and rode her bike to the other side of the town. She entered the warehouse, not to blow some steam, but to noisily blow things up.

"Good evening, Mr Morgenstern"

"Good evening, Miss Wilkins. Do you need anything tonight?"

"A box of Nine millimetres short as usual, one hundred please"

The old man picked a box of bullets and put it on the counter. She grabbed it with thanks and went through the soundproof doors into the firing range.

-x-

"Potter! A word."

Harry stopped, his schoolbag half shouldered, and turned to face the Potions Teacher.

"Yes sir?"

"I'd like to know why, exactly, it took you four years to condescend to involve yourself in your studies?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Your essay was adequate and, as I have a hard time admitting, your reference to muggle chemistry was a testimony of intelligence that reminds me painfully of your mother."

"You knew my mother, sir?"

"Don't change the subject"

Harry shrugged. "Do you really need an explanation? Voldemort is out there, I don't know who to trust, apart from Neville Longbottom or, like a compass that would point to the south, Draco Malfoy. Our Defence teacher is a joke, Professor Dumbledore avoids me like plague, Umbridge is on my back from dusk to dawn and Professor McGonagall is powerless. I'm on my own. Time to grow up, I guess"

"Detention, Potter. Now."

"But…"

"Too much spring in your footsteps while leaving class. Follow me"

Harry followed Severus Snape in his office behind the classroom. He felt the pulse of a ward setting in place once the door was closed.

"Now you have an _official_ reason to be here" he said. Then, after a pause: "Yes, I knew your mother. We were neighbours, friends even, until our later teens. I…made some mistakes. But worse, I let my…insecurities take the better of my intelligence and I…pushed her away. Into James' Potter arms, in fact. You showed me this year that you are as much your mother's son as James Potter's. It's up to you to confirm this opinion for me."

Harry pondered the statement. "I'll do my best, sir"

"It is duly noted. Of course, you'll understand I cannot change my attitude towards you."

"I understand, sir." Harry bit his lip, before adding "Sir? I have an issue I'd like to address with you. I wrote a note to professor Dumbledore but…"

Then, he explained the recurring dreams of doors and corridors and the tricks he had experimented to tame them. After a while and some questions, Snape picked up a book and handed it to Harry.

"Your detention is over, Potter. Study this. And whatever happens in those…dreams, never trust them…"

Harry paled at the implication. "Do you mean…you don't think they might be…sort of…sent by…"

"The Dark Lord? No. Not yet. Thus the importance to detach yourself from them. To be as inconspicuous as possible. If they are related to the Dark Lord, who I remind you is a very skilled Legilimens, then he must be kept unaware at all cost."

"Do you think they are related to my scar? It's always hurting when I experience them. Can it be some sort of link between us?"

Snape sighed. What could he tell the boy? Dumbledore's far-fetched theory that he was a Horcrux? The Gryffindor instincts might drive the boy – Lily's boy – to AK himself in a rash impulse to save the world.

Harry bit his lip. Part of him wanted to share the Horcrux theory with Snape, but part of him, trained by four years of bullying, was not ready to trust the Greasy Git so quickly.

Taking Snape's hesitation for a dismissal, he merely nodded, "I understand, sir. Thank you, sir."

He left the Dungeons, sliding the book into his bag, after a quick glance at the title.

_Mind Arts: A Compendium of Advanced Techniques._

-x-

Eight bullets, one hole. She could see the result from the firing position, no real need for the target to be brought forward. She smiled, her arm still extended, loosening the hold on the gun which swung around her trigger finger. A quick squeeze on both sides beyond the trigger freed the empty magazine and it fell on the table. She put the gun on the table to let it cool – the P7 had a tendency to overheat when fired too intensely, and she had emptied four magazines in a row. She began reloading the empty magazine while the target was gliding towards her. Yep. Strike. She unclipped the target and sent the target holder back, sliding another magazine in the gun and the gun into her hip holster. She relaxed her shoulders and arms and bent her neck sideways a couple times to stretch a bit. Firing practice was unexpectedly cathartic and fun. She took the old Wild West duelling stance. Quick draw time!

-x-

"It's time to go"

Hermione nodded. She hugged Crookshanks, surveyed her room and left. Two SUV were waiting, engine alive, on the car park. She climbed with Sam and her parents, while Melissa, Julie, Chirine and a native woman were following in the second vehicle. They drove in the night upstream Colorado, then straight in the desert, where they parked at the bottom of a mesa. She hugged her father and Sam, and left with the women. They climbed the first rise, and the priestess made her continue barefoot. As far as she knew, the progressive undressing on the Calvary was a mental conditioning for the ritual. She just had to stop over thinking it. Chirine exchanged quick words with the woman and a hundred feet higher, where she had to remove her shirt, she gave her a pipe, and Hermione knew she would soon be less tempted to over-analyze.

As a matter of fact, when they were just below the top of the mesa, she was rather amused by the erect state of her nipples in the cold night. Well, she supposed it was from the cold, because she was feeling…she was feeling…she was not feeling anything, in fact. The last bit of her manners forbade her to laugh. _No overreacting to drugs while wandering naked in the desert, please, I'm British_.

She laughed. _Fail_.

"Gosh I'm stoned." _I didn't say that out loud, did I?_ She slightly pinched a nipple. _Where's your man when you need him?_

The woman poured some water, drops of liquid from a vial and sand in a bowl. Then, she made a light cut Hermione's mother's wrist and dropped some blood in the mixture, using it to draw symbols on Hermione's naked skin.

'_I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, hysterical naked…' What was next? _but her out of place musings on Poetry from the Beat Generation was cut off by the woman, who spoke for the first time, imprecise English, with an undecipherable accent, but in a no-nonsense tone.

"Now you climb alone. You find spirit. Abandon to the animal. Now go, time"

_Howl_?

* * *

A/Ns

A last minute note, as I am about to post this chapter, an thus typing its title : I could not explain it to save my life. "Aiming High", really? Wtf? If someone has a guess, please let me know!

(1) Those lines are borrowed from the French Cartoonist Binet in his series "Kador" : they are supposed to be the war cry of a squadron of the French military. Roughly translated, it means: "fondle my balls, my goodness, they're not crap!" (I cannot make the translation rhyme, sorry about that).

(2) Jolly Jumper is the name of the horse of the most famous French Cowboy (Lucky Luke, by Cartoonists – again – Morris & Goscinny)

Last but not least, I feel the need to patronise a bit now. We've seen Hermione use LSD in chapter 1, and she just got stoned on some herb a few paragraphs above. In both, it's related to the shamanist techniques of "reaching the spirits" and must be understood as such, a detail in the plotline, and not a pro-drug militancy.

As long as alcohol and fat food are legal, I can't see why the recreational use of some drugs can't be. But on the other hand, I'm sorry for those people who feel the only way to enjoy life is getting drunk or stoned, it's just a tad pathetic. Go climb a rock, go run a long distance, have (safe) sex, write fanfiction, just _do_ something instead!


	8. Deliverance

Disclaimer: _I did not write this story on a 120 ft long roll of paper using a typewriter, although I own a vintage Olivetti Lettera 32. This fact is not relevant, since this story does not deal with hitchhiking across America in the sixties. On the bright side, no dog will ever eat a few feet of the text, so by the end, you faithful reader should get it whole. One might suggest that it's a pity no dog ever ate the last feet of Deathly Hallows, since it would have spared us the Crapalogue written by J. Rowling, who by the way is the rightful owner of the copyrights of the Harry Potter Universe._

**Chapter 8: Deliverance**.

A gust of wind made Hermione shiver, and she regained a bit of her senses. She had been alone for a few minutes, considering the steep slab in front of her. The stone was still warm from the day, and it encouraged her to climb. The moves were not really difficult, but rather delicate, with the lack of climbing shoes. The pull-up on the top came with a relief, but also a really cold wind. She walked randomly, opening her senses.

_Sun and moon and tree vibrations in the roaring winter dusk of Brooklyn._

"I've never been in Brooklyn" she said out loud. No moon, no sun either. Must have been the drug.

There was a snake behind her, a bird's nest with eggs close to hatching in a hole and an unidentified mammal was scurrying away. She could make out the outline of dead trees in the middle of the area. She followed this pull and headed towards them. They were radiating energy, layers of energy deposited over time and embedded in the very essence of the wood, impervious to the attrition of the elements. She stood amongst them, tentatively stepping from place to place, bathing into the subtle changes in the way Magic was radiating. _Tasting_ them.

And then she felt it. Turning slowly, she faced the spirit. "Hey" she said softly. "I was looking for you"

"I know" he said, making a sort of eye contact.

She kneeled and the puma rubbed his head between her breasts.

"I know what you are" she whispered in a husky voice. _I should have known for ages_.

"I know who you are" she whispered again, slightly parting her legs. A little bit of western self consciousness – the old 'no sex please, we're British' thing – was tempted to yell after her, but the warmth radiating from the ground was too attractive. The wind was perceptibly gaining speed, seemingly shaping a vortex around her. She lowered her pelvis in search of the rock. It started raining. The wind force increased a bit, the rain intensified, slowly washing away the writings on her skin. Air, Water…A little more parting of her thighs and she achieved a rather intimate contact with the earth.

_It's obvious. So obvious. _She almost laughed.

A memory came to her mind, two boys and a girl in winter clothes in a snowy courtyard, huddled around a conjured flame…she opened her hands, palms up, and two blue flames appeared. The Puma nodded in approval. _Yes, of course. _Air, Water, Earth. And now, Fire. The spirit seemed to approve.

"You are not a figment of my imagination…" she said, panting. Something was radiating inside her. Like metal melting…no, sublimating…the flames in her hands brightened, her breathing intensified. She _knew_ she was no longer under the drug, it was an ultimate state of awareness, akin to what the Buddhist would call the enlightenment. With benefits, in the form of waves of quality climaxes.

"Who am I?" asked the Puma.

The feelings were so intense they were painful. She felt on all fours, fully conscious of the obscenity of her posture and not giving a damn.

"Me" she rasped, before the world disappeared in a vortex of undecipherable feelings, pain, lust, pain again and...

-x-

Hedwig stopped flapping her wings, gliding idly, mentally cursing her bad luck - in the very dignified way snowy owls curse, of course. It was often like this with this Wizard, Black. He would shift his signature from time to time. He was still the same being, but it was like his address was suddenly written in another alphabet – yes, snowy owls are familiar with the concept of alphabet, for they can read; do you really think they just know things like by Magic, you stupid narrow-minded earth bound creature?

Now, this Witch was doing it. It was rather annoying, and whatever a proper post owl she was, Hedwig was annoyed. Of course, she would not lower herself to manifest her indignation in the gross way the redhead's scrounger would act, flying haphazardly barking her displeasure. No, she just adjusted slightly her glide and resumed her journey.

-x-

Hermione gained her consciousness. She was in a meadow, almost glowing green, with a sky empty of any cloud, bathed in pleasant warmth. But no sun was shining.

"Okay, girl, you're not in Utah anymore" she joked.

"Oh, yes, you still are" said a voice behind her.

She turned around, expecting Kokopelli or some horny spirit, only to find a stunning red-headed woman in her early twenties, watching her with a smile and sparkling emerald green eyes.

"Oh gosh" she whispered as the meaning of an encounter with Lily Potter might mean "I'm dead, aren't I?"

"Of, no, you're not dead yet" deadpanned Harry's mother.

Hermione frowned.

"Oh, yes, those bloody paradoxes of afterlife and transdimensional spirit communication. It's only a few years before you see this show in Broadway."(1)

Hermione shook her head. That was not making sense, so far. She said so.

"Okay. Let's try and make sense from this, please. You are Lily Potter, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am"

"I don't want to sound, rude, but as far as I know, you are dead, have been for fourteen years, give or take a few weeks. You look corporeal to me, so you are not a ghost. Moreover, we are in a sort of air-conditioned meadow with a perfect blue sky, a nice spring light – regardless to the fact I was in Utah, September 21st the last time I checked. And I don't see the Sun. So unless we are in Vegas, this place looks a lot like the afterlife."

"Nicely summarized. Your analysis is of course accurate, I'd expect no less from you, Hermione."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Your body is still in this place in the desert, never mind. You'll soon be reunited. I just took the opportunity of your unique state of mind to meet you. Oh, don't worry with the timeline, we could very well spend years chatting together and you'd be back for breakfast, all right?"

Hermione nodded.

"Good. Come on, Toto, we're moving!"

A cat she had not noticed so far went slithering between Lily Potter's legs, meowed contentedly before trotting away, tail raised high.

"Toto was our cat" she said, following it. "He died that night, too. He was in Harry's room and was killed when the roof collapsed. He used to sleep at the bottom of his bed, his way to keep watch on him. His attachment was curious because he was always terrified when Harry was flying the toy broom Sirius had given him for his first birthday"

"Oh, so Harry had flown before?"

"Before that fateful flying class in your first year, you mean? Yes, of course he had. Neither James nor Sirius would have kept him on the ground." A shadow passed on Lily's face "But he couldn't remember. Someone removed many memories of his later months with us, allegedly to 'help him blend' into a non magical household." The end of the sentence was said bitterly, commas drawn in the air to emphasise the contempt.

Seeing Hermione's shocked expression, Lily went on, "Harry was very aware of his magical skills. Half of the house was warded against summoning, including Toto, through a rune powered collar, otherwise the poor cat would have been flying around the house all day long."

"You mean, he's been obliviated as a toddler? Is that possible?"

"Unfortunately yes. But the human brain has unexpected resources"

They walked in silence, following the cat.

"Okay" said Hermione, smiling. "I'd love to hear more stories of Harry's first months, but I don't think it's the only purpose of our encounter?"

Lily Potter sighted sadly. "Unfortunately, you are right once again. There is data only Dumbledore has, and he has an awful habit of withholding it."

And so, Lily Potter told Hermione the tale of one Tom Marvolo Riddle. His youth in a Muggle orphanage, his years at Hogwarts, skilled, dedicated, brilliant. Manipulative and merciless. His quest for his origins, his ambition, terrible, to cheat death, the Horcruxes.

"Aren't there rules in the afterlife to prevent you from spreading such intelligence?"

Lily Potter laughed. "I have a special pass"

Hermione raised her eyebrows, doubtfully.

"She does. Well, she did somehow force our hands, something related to the Blood Ritual she practised on her son before Riddle's attack"

"Kokopelli?"

"The one and only. So we meet again, lovely Lady"

Hermione stopped before starting her sentence, and frowned, thinking hard. "A Blood Ritual?"

"What?" asked Lily defensively "do you know how to block a Dark Lord with a mild domestic charm?"

"No!" Hermione raised her hands appraisingly. "No, I'm not…it's just…I'm not judging in any way, no, it's just…his Scar? Harry's scar? It's not a curse scar from Voldemort's Killing Curse, is it? It's the scar from the ritual? The Lightning Bolt, one of the most powerful manifestations of Nature…Fire from the Sky, melts sand into glass…Thunder, the cry of the Gods…"

Lily nodded. Kokopelli was watching the scene with great interest.

"Unfortunately, I screwed up at some point. The soul-tearing effect of the murder which is the base of the Horcrux ritual might have been redirected by the power of the Lightning glyph."

"You mean…Harry is a fucking Horcrux?" yelled Hermione.

"I'm afraid so. It's the more likely explanation to the link they share"

"Oh, shit."

Silence.

"Shit! Shit! Shit!"

Part of her brain noticed that this dimension plane of sorts had weird laws, since blood should be flowing from her upper lip the way she was biting it. But it didn't. It wasn't even painful.

"Holy fuck"

"Language Hermione dear" said Lily Potter.

"Not my mum" snapped back Hermione, still deep in thoughts.

"In-law, that counts?"

Hermione watched the redhead, flabbergasted, all thoughts on Horcruxes and rituals forgotten. The fertility deity was chucking. Foreseeable business with this one.

"A Mother can always hope"

Hermione rushed to grab Lily Potter in a hug, unexpected tears of relief flowing. She had not realised but since the beginning of this surreal encounter, some part of her was craving for acceptation by her lover's mother. They stayed, unmoving, for some time. Then Hermione realised something else and she moved apart, overwhelmed by sadness.

"Harry will never get this hug"

"He had fifteen months worth with no restrictions," said Lily "But we should move on, there are some issues to address and even if times flows differently here, there's that matter of energy consumption while bending the space-time continuum that will prevent us from spending as much time together as we'd like. By the way, that's the main reason James isn't here. The side reason being his lack of maturity, whatever a nice and loving guy he can be."

Those words sobered Hermione.

"First," said Lily Potter "I must pass you all the data I have regarding Voldemort. Then some more you could use, and lastly a message for Harry. I've got a quick way for this, it might give you sort of a headache in the next days."

"Let me guess. You're known to be exceedingly proficient in Charms, like in 'memory charm'?"

Lily nodded and made eye contact with Hermione, who easily sunk in those emerald traps, creeping a bit at the way she was enthralled by her would-be-mother-in-law eyes. She barely noticed the older witch's fingers pulling a silver strand from her temple and redirecting it to her own forehead. She felt some dizziness in her mind, catching flashes of scenes, titles of books, spells, names and dates, Even gestures seem to connect to her kinetic memory, rehearsed movements.

"I know Kung-Fu!" she said when the last strand of memory had entered her mind.(2)

Lily chuckled.

"That's a pun you're not even aware of…funny. Well, I learned some martial arts before Magic. And now, a last one, for Harry"

Again, eye-contact, and a strand of memory began his journey, but this one was golden instead of silver, coalesced in mid-air, shaping has an egg, before entering Hermione's mind. She did not get a peek at it's contents, just a warmth, a loving feeling, making her close her eyes.

"Energy matters aside, our quota of interference with fate is long gone" said Kokopelli, disturbingly seriously. "I've given you enough of a leash, Lily. We must part soon. But your journey is not complete, Hermione. You abandoned yourself to the Spirit, and now you'll have to get the Witch back. And then bring back some balance down there. We will meet again, Hermione Granger, hopefully the day I bring you a baby girl with bushy brown hair and fascinating green eyes. Or a boy with chocolate eyes and unruly black hair. Well, you see the pattern. Now remember, you are the captain of your soul."

"You are the master of your fate" added Lily Potter.

"Shoo"

_I must have read this somewhere__,_ she thought, and she was alone, and the world collapsed in an endless fall.

Pain.

Again.

Her body was aching, she was feeling inadequate, she steadied herself on her hands and knees, it was quite working but something was amiss. She was in fact moving on her hands and toes, but her spine was horizontal, and it was disturbing. _Stop over analyzing!_ She was no longer cold, but feeling a pleasant warmth. Moreover, the contact with the ground was somewhat padded. She trotted - trotted? - around, senses open. _I must have been out for a long time, it must be close to dusk, I have a rather clear view. Even if the colours are off._

She patrolled the top of the mesa, eventually finding a path downwards, almost block by bushes. The thorns, however, did not pierce her skin, and she was moving swiftly with an unfamiliar balance.

"_Come on, Hermione. Are you aware you are strolling around naked?"_

"_Am not!"_

"_Idiot. Awareness my ass."_

"_Fuck you."_

She swung her head to try and clear the internal struggle. She focused on a trail of scents. Familiar scents. She followed the trail, it was easy. Too easy.

_Why in hell am I following a track?_

She went on.

_I'm on all fours, looking forward. I should have a stiff neck. _

But she would not care. She reached the bottom of the cliff, and headed to a place where a small stream would run freely for a few yards before disappearing under the rocks. A small puddle was formed on the side and she went to drink, lowered her head and lapped up the fresh water.

_Lapped?_

She eventually took her reflection into account.

_Eeeep!_

She looked at her hand. Her paw. She felt panic rise.

_Why the hell am I trapped into a...whatever I am…kind of cat? _

She struggled against the animal who was trying to gain control, while the witch was panicking.

_Sam! Sam, Julie and Melissa, they can transfigure me back!_ She relinquished a bit of control to the animal to find the track again and follow it to the cars. Now that she had understood the situation, everything was beginning to make sense: her enhanced eyesight, the speed and balance. And she was becoming excited: was she an animagus? _That_ would be cool. _You find your spirit_ had said the woman. _You found the spirit _had said Kokopelli. The track was strong now and she began to run. The ease was exhilarating. Soon, she caught the smell of warm metal, grease, fuel. The cars. She stopped. Three women and two men were sitting around a small fire. They had not detected her. She advanced slowly. A device beeped. Sam and her father turned slowly. Her mother held a hand, and she came rubbing her face against her. Julie waved her wand and nodded.

"Come on, Kitten" said her mother, standing up and leading her aside. Once behind the cars, she kneeled and said. "You can revert now. I've got your clothes"

The childhood bond and the pragmatic process of regular human behaviour dragged Hermione back. _I am the captain of my Soul._ It was just a matter of willpower, and in a few seconds, maybe less, and a really unpleasant strain on her body, the reshaping of her physical structure and she rolled on her back.

"Holy mother of god!"

She stayed unmoving for a minute or so, before seating. She dressed in sweat pants and shirt, standing up wobbly.

"Are you okay, Kitten?"

"_Kitten_?" she snorted.

"Quite fitting now, isn't it?"

"What am I? Can you tell me?"

"A mountain lion. Puma"

"Figures"

She slipped her feet in a pair of sandals, and walked to the fire pit, sitting on a rock, taking with a nod a mug of tea while resting her head on her father's shoulder.

"Got sandwiches" said Sam, gesturing to a basket.

She raised her left hand and thought of getting one. The sandwich flew straight and she caught it swiftly.

"I think it worked" she said.

-x-

Hedwig owlishly sighed. The Witch's signature was back but now, she was moving fast. Yuck.

-x-

"Do you plan to use all the water in town this morning?"

Hermione had already taken a shower back in MS2 a few hours ago, but she was now once again under hot water, trying to gather her wits after the very short sleep, and to lessen the ache on her muscles. Her mother's call did the job and she eventually exited the small bathroom, dressed quickly, grabbing her wand to dry her hair.

Then, she paused, considering what she had just done. Dried her hair with her wand. She closed her eyes and focused on the feeling of the wand in her hand, the flow of energy, the way it was channelled by the core. It was a rather good feeling.

"Are you all right, Kitten?"

She laid the wand back on the table, stepped back and closed her eyes. She could feel the wand and her residual magic on the handle, her mother's presence, Crookshanks watching her from his spot in a sunbeam.

"It's still working"

"Of course it is!"

"The awareness, I mean. I can feel magic sources as well as yesterday. It's awesome"

"Your magic is back as a whole, then?"

"Changed." She opened her palm and shaped the intent of getting the wand back. It neatly flew to her fingers.

She opened her eyes and slid it in her sleeve, grinning.

"Lunch time? I'm starving."

-x-

Hedwig - owlishly - released a relieved sigh. After so many hours flying above this godforsaken landscape, she was now approaching a small town huddled close to a river. Beaconing to the Witch, she glided low above the roofs. All was utterly common, a bit like the landscape where her Wizard had been spending his summer time. She could feel a huge concentration of Magic and the pull of a mail redirection spell that drove her to land on a counter, in front of a nice woman who welcomed her and tried to remove the letter.

She barked angrily. "Hey, girl, I'm just getting the letter to put it in the recipient's mailbox!"

Hedwig flapped her wings, backing from Venus, who frowned.

"Come _on_! I'm not stealing it! Who is it for? I promise she or he'll get it!"

Hedwig looked at the woman disbelievingly. She was a Post Owl, by Pegase the Holy Flier, she had an important letter to deliver, she would not betray her Wizard.

"Look, I've food and fresh water for you…"

Of course, she was tired and famished and thirsty, but as a Proper Post Owl, she would not rest until the Witch herself had the letter.

"Meow?"

Hedwig's head spun to look behind her.

"Hoot?"

"Mreow!"

"Hoot!"

Crookshanks jumped on the counter, rubbing the side of his head against the feathers. She had recognized the feline, he was the smart one, always with the Witch. She relaxed a bit. If Smart One was accepting of the woman, then she might be tentatively trusted.

"Okay, pals. You know her, Crookshanks? You wouldn't explain I'll put the letter in the mailbox and she can rest, would you?"

Venus backed in front of the Look Crookshanks sent her.

"No, you wouldn't." She rubbed her face. "Do you think it is for Sophie, then, you seem to be awfully familiar together?" Hedwig blinked. _Sophie?_ Crookshanks shook his tail. Venus had the feeling he had nodded. "Okay, then. She's in the cafeteria." Walking around the counter, she held her arm for the owl to step on it. After another glance at Crookshanks who merely blinked, Hedwig jumped on Venus' makeshift perch.

"Good" she tried to read the recipient's name but none was written on the roll. "You are not allowed to fly inside, the ceiling are not high enough. You're not in Hogwarts here." she said.

Hogwarts' Great Hall ceiling height was the reference in the Wizarding world, and it took Venus two steps to second guess the meaning of her words. She stopped dead. "Hogwarts?"

The Owl blinked cautiously.

Venus went back and pulled from a pile a year old copy of the British Rag all young American witches would stealthily read.

"Hey, Who's this Owl? She's gorgeous…" Jolene came close to pet Hedwig, who ruffled some feathers in annoyance. She had a letter, an important letter to deliver! Talk about those Americans and their so-called culture of efficiency. _Argh!_

"Holy fuck" whispered Venus, the issue of Witch Weekly opened on the counter.

"Is that Harry Potter's Owl?" asked Jolene, who had glanced at the paper.

"She looks like her, and guess what: she calmed down when Crookshanks came, and they seemed awfully chummy"

"Crookshanks? As Sophie's cat?"

Hedwig barked angrily, and Jolene picked the magazine. There were pictures taken during the tournament. She had in mind the confusing events in Britain this year and an unbelievable story of a love triangle with the World Class Quidditch Champion Viktor Krum, the British Boy Who Lived Harry Potter and the Muggleborn Bookworm, what was her name?

"Holy fuck"

Venus entered the cafeteria with Hedwig on her arm. The Owl immediately spotted Hermione and flew straight to her table.

"Hedwig!"

"Hooooooot!" Hedwig hooted enthusiastically, hopping from foot to foot, before holding her leg to Hermione who petted her with glistening eyes.

"Hedwig! You found me here?"

"Bark!" barked the owl, proudly. _Course I did, silly girl!_

She gave the owl a slice of ham and some cheese from her plate.

"You can trust Venus, she'll get you somewhere comfortable and I'll see you, okay girl? I'm soooo glad!" Hedwig barked again feebly and hopped on Venus' arm. A couple minutes later, she was asleep in the cosy owlery.

Hermione's beaming smile faded as soon as Jolene sat down in front of her. The blonde raised a eyebrow, nodding towards the retreating Venus carrying the Owl.

"Looks like you got mail, Sophie?"

"Er, yes, I did…"

Jolene slid the old Witch Weekly in front of Hermione.

"How come you never told me you were an old acquaintance of The Boy Who Lived?"

_Fuck my life._

-x-

It was early on Saturday morning. Harry was one of the few students at breakfast. He was planning his day while eating a bowl of fruit when a pair of birds swooped in the great Hall, heading straight to his table, landing in front of him. One was a strong looking bird, and the second one none other than his own Hedwig, who acted as protecting the first, who carried a letter. The writing wasn't familiar. He picked the scroll, his heart beating frantically.

"_Mr Potter, _

_My name is Jolene Rai__mondi. I'm a fifth year student at MS-Square, a Magical School in South Western United States of America. You will wonder why I'm writing to you. Well, we in America have been confused by the slander campaign focused on you during the whole Triwizard Tournament and we have a hard time believing you as the utter psycho the British Press paints you. All the stories about you are so full of discrepancies that nothing really makes sense, so as a sociology project for my Owl Year, I've chosen to analyse the data published on you to sort the facts from the gossip and speculation._

_I hope you'll be able to help me figure out (pilfer?) some truths in the overwhelming amount of data regarding your history (I hope I'll not need a time turner!) and I'll Manage to enlighten things considered up to no good so far._

_Sincerely._"

He looked at the bird, then at Hedwig, who had a smug attitude, the _Mission Accomplished_ stance. What about Hermione?

He almost threw the letter to the ground. _I want news from Hermione, not from yet another fan girl!_.

He glared at Hedwig.

"Don't you have mail from Hermione? Did you find her?"

The Owl hopped from foot to foot to show her satisfaction.

"But why didn't she write to me?"

Hedwig looked puzzled. _But she did!_

"That doesn't make sense."

He put the letter in his pocket, looked dejectedly at his breakfast and left for his room to grab his schoolbag.

"Hey, breakfast, mate!" yelled Ron as he was sorting through his books and stacks of parchments.

"Nope, I'm done. I'll be in the library."

"You're Mental!"

"Fuck you, Weasley!"

And he rushed up the stairs, leaving four disturbed roommates behind.

Settling at 'his' table in the empty library, he read the letter twice. Something was amiss. The fact that Hedwig had checked on the delivery was a good reason to trust the sender. And the wording of the last paragraph was weird. At the third reading, he began to feel the closeness of the clues. Some words were ringing a bell. Who knew about time turners? Up to no good? Manage…and pilfer? Why pilfer so obviously…at the fourth read, he was no further forward.

The only time-turner he'd seen was Hermione's, in third year. And he had sent Hedwig to Hermione, so the other bird was likely coming from the place where Hermione was.

"Goddammit!"

He touched the parchment with his wand and whispered:

"I solemnly swear I'm up to no good"

The parchment blanked, and then a familiar neat script appeared on it.

_Dear Harry,_

_I knew you would figure __out my hints. I just knew it. Well, actually, I know you will, now. I ramble. Crap. And Hedwig is eyeing me reproachfully. Poor girl, she crossed the Atlantic and all northern America to reach me, here, in Moab, Utah. Heard of the Colorado River, the Grand Canyon? Spot on. What am I doing here? Hm. Recovering, sort of. _

_Brace yourself, this will be a long story._

_Early __in July, I found myself memory charmed, magically bound and unaware of witchcraft. I was in a right state because, as you can guess, you can't merely swap four years of one's life without consequences. I was fidgeting night and day with anything resembling a wand, almost wishing strange things, like a lost object coming from nowhere in my hand…I managed to break through the memory charm and my family took me away from Britain. I've been in the United States for two months, working through lots of things until the binding could be released by an ancient ritual under the supervision of a Navajo Shaman. It looks like some…animalistic potential helped me through. My magic has changed a lot, even my perception of it. Maybe my ordeal was a chance, after all. Here, I can learn different things, a lot of Muggle sciences (hard and social). The school I attend is hidden in plain sight in a small town in the middle of some of the most spectacular sites of the Canyon Area. _

_But now,__ the question is: who gets any benefit out of the crime? Voldemort would have merely killed me in the most gruesome manner to get at you. I don't think a low ranking Death Eater would have taken the initiative. I just wonder why someone felt I was interfering with the Light's Strategy by loving you. Their lack of interest – I have some sources – of the Order of the Phoenix (the organization is not so secret) in my fate is at least suspect. _

_I had a…farewell le__tter, of sorts, in case I couldn't get my magic back, make it through the ritual. Luckily, it did not require a virgin. (blushes). Sorry for the pun, I just wanted to write that I do not regret anything between us. I stand where I am, you are the greatest wizard I know, you are my best friend and the man I love._

_So where do we go now? Honestly, I'm clueless. You wrote in your letter you claimed my table in the library. I leave it in your care, I trust you. I just hope you don't seclude yourself t__oo much, there must be trustworthy people in school: Neville seemed a nice guy, and I'm quite sure now that his attitude comes from a tragic event, maybe with regards to his parents? Now I've been here for a couple months, and seen another way to live magic, I honestly can't picture myself back in Hogwarts. I'll gladly bequest all my seats to you and Neville. It's funny who you get support from. Neville is not surprising, Luna Lovegood a bit more but whatever she does is always surprising. I've seen so many weird things here that I take back all my previous judgements on her: she's just slightly above average in the field of eccentricity. Snape, well…I don't really know. I might have had access to someone who could give me some insight on him and explain some details, but it's a weirder case. Just let things flow with him and watch what happens._

_Now, a last thing we need to sort out: how to keep in touch. I don't want to wear Hedwig out on a transatlantic delivery. I will send letters by email to a contact in Scotland, a guy named David Wouters who will Owl them to you. You can reply by the same contact that'll scan your reply and forward it by the same technique. I had to bring Jo Raimondi into the loop; in fact, she brought herself into the loop when Hedwig threw a tan__trum in the lobby, stopping Venus (the assistant)when she tried to take your letter to put in into my mailbox. Thankfully, Crookshanks was around and things calmed down when Hedwig saw him. But it didn't go unnoticed, and Jolene recognized Hedwig from pictures in Witch Weekly. Now the magazine is secured in my trunk, but damage control might still be in order. Oh, and Jolene really does have a project on the variability of your Media Coverage!_

_In the meanwhile, take care, do not overuse the Wronski feint and don't overexert Madam Pince, even on my behalf. _

_With love,_

_Hermione._

_PS: Jolene Rai__mondi is a fellow fifth-year who actually wrote the non-ciphered part of the letter, and she's really doing her socio project on your media coverage. There is no H.J.G. in MS2 (I guess only Hedwig will find one) but you might receive mail from one Sophie Wilkins. _

Harry read the letter twice. He briefly wondered what an _email_ was and what _scanning_ meant, but some words where shining above others. _The man I Love._

He felt licensed to be happy for the first time in months. And a bit ashamed. _I owe Hedwig a never ending supply of treats._

"Mischief Managed"

* * *

A/Ns

(0) The disclaimer refers to Kerouac's "On the Road" I'm reading these days in the "scroll" edition recently issued. Other Beat Generation Poetry quoted so far in this story is from Allen Ginsberg ("Howl & Other Poems": whatever you think of theses times, there is a terrific rhythm in Ginsberg's poems, a mastery of the English Language that, in those times of Internet speech, is a blessing, imho). Special Wave to **RoryBlack2921 **who spotted the other Ginsberg quote in the previous chapter! By the way, about reviews, I usually reply to each one by PM. In the field of reader/writer relationships, I'm trying to be the Amélie Nothomb of Fanfiction (until I get as many reviews as she does…I'm not a full time writer (yet?)).

(1) Of course Hermione has not seen Spamalot yet!

(2) Sorry, I could not miss this one.

(3) Snowy owls are supposed to bark, no hoot. But Hedwig is the Smartest Owl of Age, so she needs quite a vocabulary. Hence, she barks and hoots. Your point is invalid.


	9. Fan mail

**Disclaimer**: Does Supercalifragilistic expialidocious qualify as a protection against all mislead interpretation of this chapter as a Copyright Infringement, or is it better if I state that I don't own the tiniest piece of the Harry Potter Universe? Better safe than sorry: I don't own the tiniest piece of the Harry Potter Universe (not counting the twenty print copies of the books, see chapter 2).

Miscellaneous statements:

a/ Skele-Gro is a registered Trademark of Reubens Winkius and Company Inc.

b/ No wrackspurts have been mistreated during the writing of this chapter.

c/ Nitpickers are reminded that Pureblood conspirators are not a protected specie. Thus, a few might experience various levels of suffering (from annoying to lethal) in this chapter (and up to the end of the story). You've been warned.

**Chapter 9: Fan mail.**

If it weren't for the cloak and dagger context, Loreena McDiff would run away from this madhouse. Granted, she had wanted to work for a few months in a European media company, she had it. As a dogsbody, she had to fill the voids in the Daily Prophet with meaningless information – new briefs, press releases, useless events – and embellish them to the likeness of information. Of course, as soon as the communiqué was of any importance, it was taken over by a "real" reporter.

But with regards to the mission Gaagi Lightfoot had assigned her, it was the best job ever, because she was at the very centre of the Prophet's gossip network, and by consequence Magical Britain's gossip network. This night was no exception, and she was perusing the various documents, briefs, nondescript reports of mundane events appearing one after another in the mail box. At some point, she picked a freshly delivered Press Release carrying both seals of Hogwarts and from the Ministry of Magic's Department of Education, and a familiar name caught her eye, like a huge neon sign above the paper. "top ranking student Hermione Granger…"

_Bingo._ Or should it have been _Bloody Hell_ as they say here? A quick duplication charm, and a copy of the document was tied to an Owl's leg and flying above London.

-x-

There were two kinds of patrons at McDiff's. Most were tourists, here for a pit stop between the mornings spent rushing through Arches and the afternoon in Canyonlands. Or between Needles and Arches. Or something. They'd grab a hamburger and pile onto the bus to never return. Then, there were a selected few regulars, most of all witches and wizards. It was late on Saturday afternoon. Hermione was sitting in the booth, facing Jolene, who was visibly fidgeting, and Sue Ann, with Pamela on her side and a sixth year named Michelle on the open side. A jukebox was playing Frank Zappa in a corner of the room. Lynn, the waitress, laid five beers on the table. Pamela handed the bottles, theatrically giving Hermione hers at the end with a resounding noise.

"Okay…_Sophie._" She said, making Hermione wince to the emphasis on her borrowed name. "Spill."

"Spill what?" replied Hermione defensively.

"What the fuck was Harry Potter's Owl doing in the cafeteria on Wednesday?" asked Sue Ann. Jolene made an apologetic face, on the lines of "I didn't do it".

"Err…" Hermione sighted heavily, smiled shyly. "Delivering a letter?"

"To _you_."

She shrugged.

"So you're pen pals with Harry Potter?"

"That's nice." said Michelle "poor guy needs all friendship he can get these days. With his dramatic losses…you know, the guy killed in the Tournament."

"And now his Muggleborn friend…"

She winced.

She winced because she had a good idea of what was coming next: the news of her 'death' had made it into the Prophet and the Prophet had made it to Moab. She was just wondering who had bothered flipping through it to find the news, unless she was in the cover story, rather unlikely. She tried a surprised and not very convincing "His _what_?"

Michelle slid a folded newspaper in front of her. Hermione recognized the old-fashioned layout of the Daily Prophet.

"Freshly delivered, I'm not even sure the first copy has been opened over there."

_Tragic Failure of Muggle Contraption._

_It is only today that we discovered in an Hogwarts Staff release that prominent Muggleborn Gryffindor student Hermione J. Granger was killed last summer in a tragic aeroplane accident (Aeroplanes are those contraptions Muggle use to fly from a location to another). Once again, the Muggle technology is to blame for the loss of a promising individual and raises the issue of the mixed raising. The Muggle world is not safe for wizards and witches and many voices will be raised again to have a closer monitoring of Muggleborns._

She knew the story was due to spread today, but seeing it in print, and reading the contemptuous tone of the paper, coated with fake concern was disgusting, pushing aside all her questions regarding her schoolmate's unnatural attention the rag. _Prominent Muggleborn…_Wasn't she a devious hussy who'd resorted to Love Potions to bypass her 'doubtful natural charms' to toy with two boys' affections?

The only sound came from the rattling of the bottles on the table. Hermione was deadly pale, eyes closed, breathing slowly. The lights shimmered in sync with her breathing for never-ending seconds before stilling.

"Sophie?"

The four girls exchanged looks.

"Wankers." she growled, slapping the newspaper on the table and picking her bottle of beer. She took a long swig. "Bloody wankers". She picked the newspaper and shook it "who's is it?"

"Library" replied Jolene "who would subscribe to this?"

"I'll return it. Thanks for the hint."

The silence was thick.

"Sophie?"

"Hmm?"

"Er..I…I'm sorry" said Michelle. "It was my idea to…"

Hermione studied the girl. Michelle Robinson was an African American witch from Chicago (1), who had enrolled in MS-square after hectic years in Great Lakes. She was stopped in her musings by Jolene:

"Listen, Sophie…we…you know, it was difficult not to notice the Owl, she wouldn't release the letter to Venus, who just remembered that paper in Witch Weekly, on Potter. And well, the owl calmed down when she saw your cat…"

"They were awfully buddy…He went visit her in the Owlery the next day." Cut in Michelle.

"We asked Tanita about you, but she wouldn't say a word. So we went back to read some old issues of Witch Weekly, and then I saw this article about this girl, just an hour ago…"

Jolene slid the battered magazine in front of them, opened where a full page was filled with a picture taken before the Triwizard Tournament's First Task.

"Yeah," groaned Hermione, pointing to her younger self while wondering how many copies of this issue were available in town. "That's her. Hermione Granger."

"So?" asked Sue-Ann.

She shrugged. "Hermione Granger is dead. Blame those mad Muggles and their insane contraptions. It's written in the paper."

She dropped a ten dollar bill on the table and left McDiff's.

_I should have summoned and burnt this rag to ashes earlier this week. _

-x-

Harry had just received a strange letter at breakfast. It was half printed, half hand written on Muggle paper, most likely from a computer.

_From: _

_To: _

_Cc: ; _

_Subject: [HP Media Alert] Prophet hoax _

_Sophie,_

_There's a Prophet situation here, scheduled for tomorrow on page 4: You didn't travel by plane, did you?_

_Hugs._

_Dave._

He could not figure out all what was written in the sheet. Evidently, the part bellow his name made sense – something written in the Prophet was of interest – but the very first lines were rather cryptic.

Then, in the second half of the sheet, a few sentences had been hastily written:

_Mr Potter,_

_Do not trust what's written in today's paper (page 4). We're sorting things out but someone is covering his tracks. Be smart._

_David Woutter,_

_Chief Executive Officer - MoI Consulting Ltd._

"Who the hell are the Mothers of Invention?"

He folded and pocketed the letter, searching for a Prophet to borrow. Luckily, an owl had just delivered Neville's copy. Neville being absorbed in a letter, Harry relieved the bird from its package.

"May I?"

He opened the paper and quickly glanced at page 4, where he discovered Hermione's obituary, cursing himself for his lack of anticipation. He realized he was staring at the page, and some of his table mates had noticed: he forced himself to read the article, and the condescending tone was enough to upset him. Who had done this to Hermione? Who could scheme such a evil plot? The pitcher of pumpkin juice exploded. His scar was throbbing. _Is Voldemort reading the Prophet too?_ He wondered. He willed the pain to recede, closing his eyes, focusing on happy thoughts. He could recall glimpses of a scene in a movie, cactuses and sand. Riding a horse with Hermione towards the sunset. The image was soothing, and a sort of cold lucidity appeared in his mind.

_Time to put an act._

He shook his head in denial, hands trembling and bottom lip quivering.

"Harry? Is something wrong?" asked Neville.

Harry shook his head in silence, letting his shoulders drop in defeat.

"That's…" he began in a strangled voice, before fleeing the great Hall. He had even managed a decent tear.

-x-

"Remember Hermione Granger!"

As a whole - or almost - all the students in the Great Hall of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry stood to their feet and raised their goblets. Harry managed his poker face to hide his anger. How could Dumbledore spread such a blatant lie in the face of the world?

-x-

From:

_To_

_Subject: Fwd:[HP Media Alert] Prophet hoax_

_Sophie, _

_Attached is the scan of Harry's response._

_Smart guy._

_Dave._

Hermione opened the attachment.

_Dear Jolene,_

_Thanks for the interest in my story. I'm not in the mood for fun since I learned - in the press, of all things - what looked like some bad news today in regards to a very dear friend of mine. I think that, thanks to the advanced warning given by a common friend, I managed the crushed hero face with quite a success. I buried myself in the bowels of the Library as a tribute to the memory of this friend. I had an uneventful encounter with a pathetic bully and two sidekicks (one of them was replaced by a sow named Millicent Bulstrode during summer break. Strike that, defamatory to sows). Not even worth getting angry, I just played the pathetic card and left. _

_I'd like to know more about your school, your syllabus, and the way things are in America. You wrote that your school is in South West US? You must be close to Mexico: is the weather nice down there? Here in Scotland, autumn is chilly and wet. The old castle is full of draughts and damp places. We are already piling up blankets and reviewing warming charms. _

_Cheers (if with little enthusiasm)_

_Harry._

_PS: Would you enlighten me on what exactly is an email? Even if I can guess it can make you exchange stuff using computers._

Hermione smiled. Back from McDiff's, she had stormed into her room, eager to put running shoes on and burn her anger until collapsing. And she had done so.

She had ran for thirty miles upstream Colorado, on Route 128, almost collapsed from exhaustion, found a cave hidden amongst trees and used her last sparks of energy to switch to her Puma form and sleep a few hours.

It was only after breakfast that she had checked her computer, to find a flooding mailbox and Dave's warning, too late to be useful, comforting messages from her parents and a follow-up from Scotland.

The sun was shining, she was in her comfortable - by Muggle standards - and brightly lit room in MS Square. On a whim, she composed a reply, attached some pictures taken a few days ago with Sue Ann, Jolene, Ray and John on the university field and in town, and clicked 'send' before grabbing her schoolbag and running downstairs.

Harry was surprised when Hedwig landed in front of him with a brown paper envelope. He found yet another print, but also some photographs and two books. He glanced at the books: "Images of Colorado River: Needles, Canyonlands and Arches" was a heavy volume of pictures and the other one was a paperback with a flashy yellow and black cover.

"Internet For Dummies?" he read aloud. Then he picked the printout.

_From: _

_To: _

_Subject: [For HP][Personal] Day life. _

_Harry,_

_I asked Dave to send you a couple books I knew he had available, along with some recent pictures. The news regarding your friend had reached us. Nobody here is supposed to know her, but it raised some suspicions._

_Love_

_Sophie._

He quickly hid the pictures in the larger book and began learning about this Internet while eating his breakfast.

"What's that?" asked Ron, pointing to the book.

"A book." replied Harry.

"What's the…Internet?"

"A kind of super telephone, connecting computers, so you can exchange stuff."

"A Muggle thingy?" he asked, piling food on his plate.

"Hmm."

"Why bother?"

"Because it's huge! You can do lots of stuff with it."

"Yes, maybe for Muggles, but you're a wizard!"

"So?"

"So why bother?"

"Why not? You can do things using this Internet you can't do with Magic yet."

"Because!" yelled Ron, stopping his frantic collection of food, a feat Harry found disturbing. More than the redness of his friend's ears.

Harry marked the page, closed the book and laid it carefully on the table.

"Would you care to elaborate?"

"Because Magic is easier and quicker…"

"Are you sure? You know that, in the time span a Wizard travels through Britain on a broom, a single plane can carry several hundred Muggles for thousands of miles…I mean, a message with the Internet takes seconds to reach anyone in the world, wherever it's sent from. A couple seconds from America. How much time does it take to an Owl to cross the ocean?"

"Why do you care? It's not like you have someone to exchange letters with from America with, hey _dude!_" replied Ron in a laugh, before turning back to his plate.

Harry waited for the evening to check on the photos. They had been taken in the same landscape that the pictures he had seen in the book. He had been surprised, to discover Moab was in the desert. He admitted that those crystal-clear waters winding in this stony landscape were compelling. More than the dark ones of the Lake. He spent a lot of time looking at the photographs. Well, as he had discovered, they were not photographs, but printouts of _scanned_ photographs, that _scanning_ was a technique to transform the pictures in _computer files_ so they could be sent as part of an _electronic message_, thus travelling from western America to Scotland in a heartbeat. He had hardly recognized Hermione - sorry, Sophie - with her shorter hair and the outdoor gear she was wearing in all of them. He had in mind what he had seen of her body a few months ago. She was less curvaceous, more slender, and even muscular. She had something predatory in her attitude. In one picture, she was doing pull-ups on a stadium, and her strength was obvious. Then, he examined the other people, girls and boys. He felt a slight pang of jealousy towards the little group, seemingly relaxing on a lawn, in front of a building labelled "University Of Utah".

"I think you can use some company." said a voice. Harry looked up to see Luna standing in front of the table.

He smiled, and she just sat beside him and went to work on an essay - Arithmancy, as far as he could guess. He raised an eyebrow expectantly, but she was actually working, so he put pictures and books about Utah aside to work on his own transfiguration essay, the first entry on his to-do list. They worked in companionable silence for two hours until Madam Pince reminded them of the hour. They packed and left. As their routes split, a couple staircases farther, Harry turned to Luna in a whim and asked:

"It's Hogsmeade weekend next Saturday, would you like to come with me?"

Luna looked at him with a small smile. "Of course I'd like to, Harry Potter. Thank you for asking."

"You're very welcome, Luna Lovegood."

-x-

Walden McNair was the average pureblood wizard, and acting as such. Well, almost. Because he was the Ministry Executioner, he had an appearance to maintain, but due to the tradition of contempt towards physical exercise, he wouldn't lift weights to take care of his impressive physique, but rather resort to proven techniques. And we must credit his intelligence for his admittance that Muggle steroids were far more efficient that strengthening potions. Not that he would have admitted the fact without Veritaserum. Walden McNair had another need for Muggle interaction, usually involving teenage females and this was not really frowned upon in the pureblood society. So if Walden McNair was inconspicuously wandering Muggle London, it was for his chemicals.

He had made the deal quickly, even if the vendor was not his usual contact. The man had nonetheless provided the accurate identification and had delivered the usual Icebox with the precious doses. He Apparated near to his home, and in his haste, did not notice the soft noise of another apparition. Sam settled himself in a tree offering a front seat view on McNair's study, pulling night vision binoculars. He watched him take the injection, taking note of the time and counting down. According to Hot Lips computations, it would need a couple hours for the neurotoxins to begin shutting down the vital functions of McNair's body. First, the skin's delicate sensing termination will send dramatically inaccurate signals, warm and cold up to a burning sensation, then arms and legs will lose motor control, then bladder and bowels, then breathing should become more and more difficult. The action on the brain itself was akin to a Dementor attack, hallucination, paranoia. If he was lucky, he might die from heart failure during a panic attack. Or maybe not. Sam settled himself down to observe. A couple of hours wait was not a bother to an inbred hunter.

-x-

Hermione was waiting for the morning sun, her head resting on her front paws. She was still out at ungodly hours for her morning run, switching from human to feline state to suit her state of mind. She had woken after disturbing nightmares of Killing and Torture curses, Portkeys dropping awfully familiar dead bodies. She did not notice the Night Hawk circling above her.

-x-

Arthur Weasley hurried through the corridors of the Ministry in response of a panicked call from Cornelius Fudge himself. It was very late this night and the office was surrounded by tense - almost frightened - people. There were more Aurors than usual and his own boss, Amelia Bones, was just arriving behind him.

"Ah, Arthur, Amelia"

"What's the matter, Minister?"

Fudge pointed to a half opened parcel on his desk, but it was his Junior Undersecretary who answered to Amelia Bones.

"This was delivered in the morning mail. It passed the screening but we can't figure out what it is. No magical activity at all"

Arthur, guessing he was consulted as the Muggle Artefacts guru, peeked into the cardboard, and levitated the object inside.

"What in Merlin's name is _that_?" asked someone.

Arthur cocked his head, making the object spin in mid-air to examine in thoroughly.

"This, Minister" he said, hiding his amusement at the best of his acting skills "Is a rubber duck."

-x-

Hermione was now ready to head back to town when she felt the presence above. A bird? With such a magical signature? She slid from the rock to observe it from a safe place. It was a Hawk, now elegantly gliding towards her. As it came close, she could feel it's Magic. That was no ordinary bird, and it was feeling familiar. She could feel it was no threat, and she jumped on the rock to watch it circle twice as if tasting the flying conditions on the mesa top, before it landed in front of her in a subtle twist of some feathers, before folding its wings. She cocked her head, sniffed. Yes, she knew this…'bird'. She reverted to her human form.

"Tanita?"

The bird morphed into the young native, whose sparkling eyes were expressing all her love of flying, an expression of primal happiness she had seen Harry wear after his first experience with Buckbeak. She briefly had to fight the urge to kiss the girl – and more – on the spot, just because she had sought for her and could share their experiences. She had not grown so close to Tanita as expected, both girls having their workload issues to deal with. Tanita was travelling a lot across the Navajo Land for her studies with Professor Makeya and her voluntary work with the Nation's Educational Services – in which she had squeezed and extra credit project for Sociology. They could spend little time together, little moments, precious times.

"You never told me…" whispered Hermione.

"It's just been a few weeks I mastered everything. And we had so little time to talk." said Tanita, hugging her 'sister'.

"Oh gosh, Tani, I'm so glad to see you"

"You're not so alone, are you?"

"The girls and boys are nice, but I need family, y'know."

"You miss him terribly, don't you?"

"It's painful. With my Magic free, I don't have those urges anymore. I just crave for him. Not for sex. For him to be close. To see by myself he's okay, to _feel_ he's okay."

-x-

The letter had not came _scanned_ as an _attachment_ to an email sent by _swilkins_ to _dave_, but rather as a thick white envelope with blue and red lettering, stealthily given by Hedwig in a deserted corridor. After solemnly swearing, he began his reading in the library, practicing the vanishing spell McGonagall was obsessed with on the boisterous packaging.

_Dear Harry,_

_I hope that this letter finds you well. Since I wanted it ciphered, I could not use the email, so I chose to have it fedexed by my parents. They now live in Boulder, Colorado, an apparition jump away from Moab. Yes, guess what? I passed my licence a couple days ago, and I can visit them whenever I want. I suppose you won't find apparition as fun as a broom ride, but it's far more efficient, unless you have to travel very far, then a plane is the best imho. _

_Things go well, and I'm quite level with most of my classmates, even if the curriculum is challenging, since lots of Muggle knowledge is involved. Btw, I wonder (do I, really?) how it comes that the Magical Education in Britain is so secluded. Once I graduate here, I could join Muggle University, albeit having a hard time at first, but I could. I don't see how a Hogwarts educated Muggle raised could fit in the Muggle world after graduation – besides taking years of tutoring. _

_Apart from that, I've more that fully recovered from the bindings, but something did change. I've more raw power available now but less accuracy in my casting. Somehow, my wand seems less fitting than 'before'. I seem to struggle with some spells and summoning, for instance, is easier wandless (smoother, because easier to power at a lesser level). I spend lots of time with Profs Bellerive (minds arts) and Martin (theory of Magic) to help adjust. It's funny those two had to team to help me, for Bellerive, who was really instrumental in my release, was born in Haiti: He's a huge black man, while Julie is from East Coast. She's a petite blonde, so thin you're afraid to break her, but she's a Charms and Enchanting prodigy, and a wonderful and enthusiastic teacher. The school is rather small (less than a hundred students, including Post NEWT apprentices) with eleven teachers from all origins (Makeya is from Japanese ascent, Asok a Goblin, we even have a Centaur, a New-Yorker (that's Julie Martin) and a French!) _

_There are so many things I want to tell you, but I do not trust my privacy charms with them, my safety and yours are at stake. I miss you so much!_

_Love_

_S._

_PS.1: On the matter of Charms, try and talk to Flitwick about your mother. _

_PS.2: Attached is the ciphering charm, just to be sure he knows the trick._

_Dear Sophie, _

_I'm sitting in one of those plush armchairs close to the fireplace, in our common room. Today was a 'Hogsmeade weekend', and I wandered into town with a friend of mine, a 4th year Ravenclaw called Luna Lovegood. She's a childhood friend of Ginny and you met her a couple times, she's quite fond of you, and she just **knows** you are alive. She is convinced you managed to apparate – in a bout of accidental magic – from the plane before the crash, but were so distressed that wrackspurts confused you so you forgot to come to Hogwarts. She's a nice girl, sometimes strange, rather an outcast in her House. Beside her odd looks, she's a surprisingly insightful person, very refreshing in those dull times. _

_The day was pleasant, sunny, if cold. Pleasant if you forget (and I try very hard to) the behaviour of some of my dorm mates (a red-headed one in particular) who were involved in an drinking contest with dire consequences - for them: the Caretaker will have loads of help in the following weeks). _

_Some bullies also tried to interfere. A blond ponce tried to get at me: I surprisingly managed to cope with his crude remarks on my choices with regards to female company, past and present, until he found himself victim of a freak accident: hit in the leg by an 'unidentified object' (like, roughly conical, made of lead and copper?), he had his kneecap shattered in such a cursed way that the usual strategy of vanishing the bones and skele-growing them back is not failsafe. That's what the rumour mill says, at least. Maybe a slight limp will tame his usual pureblood arrogance. I was of course targeted as the prime suspect, until cleared by the inspection of my wand and the lack of any spell residue on his person. I heard that the object left a lot of metal in the wound. _

_Next week is the first Quidditch match of the year, and as usual, we play Slytherin. I honestly don't look forward to it. I'll play because I would be unfair to our Captain, Angelina. She has enough on her plate with the Keeper position to fill - my friend Ron made it barely, but I wonder if our Head of House will let him play after today - he's still vomiting in the bathroom a couple hours later. _

Hermione smiled, frowning a bit at the almost imperceptible ink blot on 'friend', as if Harry has pondered writing the word down. Of course, she knew that Hawkeye was having an itch to fire his old Lee-Enfield L42A1, and to scratch it, had shot Draco Malfoy in the leg with a bullet coated with an infusion of mescal and rattlesnake venom, releasing a neurotoxin - another one - lethal for sixty percent of motor nerve endings around the wound – and 7.62 NATO bullets usually make large holes. Even with all skele-gro in the world, he would limp for his whole life. And not slightly. She resumed her reading.

_As a matter of fact, for all my love of flying, Quidditch is a bit of a waste. But the changes in my social habits are enough so I'd rather not seek any more attention by quitting. So I cope. Padfoot gave me an enchanted mirror to use for communication. Luna helped me copy the runes on it and I managed to analyse some parts. I'll attach my data, there are many things I don't understand, but after all, they were built by the Marauders for fun, I can't imagine we could not reproduce them! It would be pretty cool if we could have a set of those for us. I miss you and there are so many questions I'd like to ask, discuss…I know quite nothing of your life out there, the friends you have, what you learn, what you do for fun, how you cope with what happened, and moreover, why, who…there's another damn threat out there and I need to know what/who it is!_

_Moreover, I don't know how long it will take before someone notices I'm receiving much more mail than usual, and with the Ministry appointed "Inquisitor", I'm really concerned with safety._

_I'm sorry for your difficulties with your wand. Maybe you are no longer the same witch. Your wand chose an eleven year old girl and I wonder if the 'sweet sixteen' young woman is the same. Is she? So much happened…Look at me: how can I be the same? How can my magic, so tied to who I am, be the same four years later? I killed Quirrell, was bitten by a Basilisk, and travelled in time, faced Dementors... I look back and things seem to belong to an Alternate Universe. _

_Whatever._

_I can't express how much I feel alive since I know you are safe. I have been on autopilot for weeks, and the changes I have made in my life were…I don't know. It was just what I felt right, but out of desperation. Sort of. Now, I know. I will keep fighting for you. And I'm gonna win._

_Because you're worth it._

_Because I love you!_

Hermione bit her lip to avoid a tear (fail) and pondered Harry's statement about her wand. She made her chair spin to face the computer, to check on the availability of Julie Martin. A point of magical theory was open for discussion. A point about awareness, magical foci, power channelling and other intricacies of Life Forces

-x-

"Dave and his pals are really geniuses. Making readable electronic copies of the magical Newspaper with text search feature…They are going to make money out of this story!"

_Hawkeye_ Granger looked at his wife above his mug of tea.

"I take you found something interesting?"

"Hmm hmm" nodded his wife from behind her laptop.

"Listen: Sturgis Podmore, 38, of number two, Laburnum Gardens, Clapham, has appeared in front of the Wizengamot charged with trespass and attempted robbery at the Ministry of Magic on August 31st."

"So?"

"Podmore was arrested by Ministry of Magic watch-wizard Eric Munch, who found him attempting to force his way through a top-security door at one o'clock in the morning. Podmore, who refused to speak in his own defence, was convicted on both charges and sentenced to six months in Azkaban."

"That gives? Which side does that Podmore guy belong to?"

"Fried Chicken."

"Oh. There's a story behind this."

"I'm writing to Loreena, she might have more information than what was printed."

"You know, I love you."

"I do, but thanks for the reminder." replied Mrs Granger with a mischievous smile. "But you won't get lucky for all that, I have a couple wisdom teeth to remove in ten minutes."

"Aww…"

-x-

"Mr Potter? A word please."

Harry paused his packing, frowning. The transfiguration class had gone well so far, he had mastered all the variation of the vanishing spell and he wondered what could his Head of House want. Of course, he'd given her a rather cold shoulder since the fuss over Umbridge's detention in early September…When the last of his classmates had left the room, he walked to the desk.

"Professor?"

"How are you faring, Harry?"

"I'm quite fine, Professor." he replied, noticing the sadness in McGonagall's eyes.

Obviously, she couldn't even talk about Hermione, not for lack of desire, but due to the pain of losing her favourite student. This discovery helped Harry relax. She was clean.

"I miss her, Professor"

"She would be proud of your excellent schoolwork this year."

He frowned. "I don't see the connection" he replied, making eye contact.

McGonagall flinched. She had not seen such a mix of cold anger and determination since Head Girl Lily Evans had confronted her on Death Eater wannabes in the seventies.

"Professor, I loved, and still do, Hermione Granger. I can't foresee anyone else being able to fill the void she left. As I already told Professor Snape, my improved schoolwork only reflects my growing up, since I'm rather left to my own devices in front of Voldemort and his allies of all kind, from Malfoy to Umbridge."

"Yes, you are quite right…" she paused, opened her mouth a couple times as if trying to say something she knew she would regret later. Then, she asked, "The staff noticed you had been receiving more mail than usual lately."

Harry stiffened. McGonagall saw his reaction, and recoiled a bit.

"The _staff_? Like in Headmaster Dumbledore's staff?"

"Harry! We are just worrying…"

"_He_ should have worried a bit more when _He_ left me alone in Durzkaban after the events last June!" he exhaled deeply, regretting his outburst. "'m sorry Professor, but it is still a sore point."

-x-

The Portkey dropped Hermione and Julie Martin in a clearing, somewhere in the forests of Montana. Hermione almost had a bout of longing for the Scottish autumns, walking on the thick carpet of fallen leaves of all shades of red. They walked for ten minutes on a barely visible trail, when she felt a pulse, the crossing of a ward line. A hundred yards in front was a small village, half a dozen wooden houses. They paused in front of a nondescript one, with a huge pile of wood waiting to be cut up, an huge axe stuck in a block seemingly waiting for this purpose.

They entered through a short hall with heavy coats and a shotgun hanged on a side, into a rather dark workshop. A rather stocky man rose from his chair to greet them in a surprisingly gentle manner considering his wood cutter look, red shirt and denim overall, boots and baseball cap included.

"'Mornin' ladies…Oh, Miss Martin! Long time no see. How's your mangrove and thestral hair combo been fairin' lately?"

"More than adequate Mr Alcott, thank you very much. May I introduce Sophie Wilkins? She's a student of mine and has experienced some…events lately that might have changed the ways she interacts with her wand."

The wand-maker nodded, acknowledged Hermione with a simple "Miss" and held his hand, palm up.

Hermione frowned.

"Your wand, please?"

"Oh, yes. Sorry."

"Oh. Brit you are, aren't you?"

Hermione drew her wand and presented it, handle first.

"From Ollivander, I guess?"

He took the wand, examined it. "Vine wood and Dragon Heartstring…you took great care of it…born from non-magicals?"

"Yes."

He laid the wand on the counter, produced his own and quickly cast a few charms, showing surprise at some point.

"Interesting. And you are sixteen?"

"Yes, sir."

"Show me your form."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You're an animagus, a cerval or a puma, something like that. I need to see you handling it."

Hermione nodded. At least, it seemed she would not be required to stroll around naked with her wand stuck in…er, never mind. She chuckled and changed form. She jumped on the counter and on a nod, changed back in mid-air.

"Good."

He cast a few more spells, without visible results.

"Excellent!"

He went to a storeroom behind his workshop, and soon was back with half a dozen cardboard boxes. Then, opened a trapdoor, went down a ladder and came back with another set of boxes. Hermione watched the proceedings, opening her senses to feel the magic from the boxes. Woods and cores, she guessed. But the wand-maker had once again disappeared upstairs, bringing more boxes. She could feel the pull on the boxes, or rather their contents, as if calling for her. Without being told, she found a pull stronger than the others on a box in the first set, then the second…

"Good, Miss is a quick thinker. Let me see…Oh oh. Yes."

Juniper wood with Griffin feather, sealed by rattlesnake venom and Lethifold fur on the handle. I can do that." He sent both teacher and student away for a couple hours, and they walked aimlessly, exchanging a few words with the villagers. They grabbed a quick lunch at the local Inn – which was also the grocery, apothecary and bookshop, and the new wand was waiting for Hermione on the counter top, laid on a velvet cloth.

"Go, go, pick it up!" said the wand-maker.

Hermione examined the wand, trying to feel it. It did look appealing, and she moved her hand closer, pausing an inch above the handle, closing her eyes.

"Do you feel it?" asked Julie.

"I do." whispered Hermione. "It's…she feels good."

To the witness' surprise, the wand obeyed Hermione's non-verbal summons and jumped into her hand. She felt the energies balance, somewhat like they had done in Ollivander's shop a few years ago, but on a greater scale. She felt a slight arousal, but to her relief, did not find herself in an embarrassing situation. No, it was power, comforting and unadulterated power. A single charm went to her mind, a charm she had not managed so far.

"Expecto Patronum!"

A blinding white light erupted from the wand and shaped itself in a little animal who moved towards the wand-maker, then the teacher, to eventually stop in front of her. It was almost solid.

"Is that an Otter?" asked Julie Martin, unable to hide her surprise.

"Looks like it."

"Wow. I was expecting a Puma. Usually your Animagus form shapes the Patronus…"

"Don't you think the inner desires shape it, instead? I'm not a natural born predator, Julie." said Hermione softly, fascinated by the otter. Then, she whispered "you may go" and the Patronus vanished. She was ecstatic. Now she was once again feeling like a witch.

They left the village with a spring in their step, and had just crossed the ward line when it happened; Hermione barely felt a pulse of Magic and dived out of its path, before hearing the shouted "stupefy". (3)

She used her momentum to roll farther and got her wand in her hand, casting a wide shield covering the area where Julie had fallen and crouched beside her. She could make the outlines of hastily disillusioned wizards. She tried to get control over her rising panic, holding the shield while searching for a solution. The shield looked powerful, yet didn't drain her magic, so they were safe for a while, but she couldn't stay this way for ever.

She was not even prone to swear. How could she fight back with her wand kept busy by the shielding?

_You've got another wand, idiot._

She rummaged in her bag to get her old wand. She could feel that the channel was not very powerful, because of the amount energy she was spending in the shield.

_I don't really know how to fight with a wand. _

She could feel the spells pummelling her shield. Hear yells from the wizards, lewd comments on those two ladies who'd they have fun with.

_**Two** ladies, idiot!_

She pointed her old wand towards Julie: "Enervate". The teacher twitched and stirred a bit. "Enervate!". Julie moaned. Each time Hermione would cast the reviving spell, she would lose focus and her shield would weaken. "Merlin Balls, _**Enervate**_!"

Julie shook her head, trying to get her senses back.

"What the…"

"Okay there?"

She rolled, steadied herself and crouched beside Hermione.

"Nice shield. Crap, Snatchers."

"What now? Looks like they just want quality time with our bits." replied Hermione, sliding her almost useless old wand in her belt. She took her wand in her left hand, letting the shield shimmer and picked her gun in her right hand. Julie frowned.

"I'm useless with two wands. That balances things. Six guys, eight bullets"

"We'll not play heroes. I'll Portkey us out, I doubt those guys are able to ward the area." Said Julie, pulling the enchanted four feet of nylon rope from her bag.

"No heroics, copy that. Just some souvenirs"

She pointed the P7 and pulled the trigger. A first bullet shattered a kneecap, a second a wand-arm elbow, and the third a wand handle and the hand wrapped around it. She noticed the Teacher's bewilderment and yelled.

"Beam us out, Julie!"

* * *

A/N

(1) If Darth Drafter enrolled Ségolène Royal in "The little Veela that Could", I can have my president-inspired OC as well! [for those out there who are neither Americans nor French, Ségolène Royal was running for President in 2007 – lost (unfortunately) to Sarkozy, and Michele Robinson is better known nowadays as Mrs Obama…]

(2) I'm quite fond of otters and I could not bear the idea of changing Hermione's patronus.

(3) That would've been a perfect cliffie, innit? Fortunately I'm not that bad…

(Edit1) Why does ff net remove Supercalifragilistic expialidocious when I write it in a single word? Weird.

Supercalifragilisticexpiali docious? ok

Supercalifragilisticexpialido cious? ok

ous? Fail.

Supercalifragilisticexpialid ocious? ok

Weirder. 28 characters only? Is it because Shakespeare's longest word is 27? ("Honorificabilitudinitatibus", try to use it in your next conversation…)

(Edit2) Next chapter might take a few more days than the usual one-week delay. Let's say, one two weeks? My boss expects I do some actual work these days...

(Edit3) Since Old-Crow did insist, I fixed the caliber issue when Draco Malfoy is shot by Hawkeye. Can I refuse an Old-Crow suggestion? He added this fic to his favs, by golly!


	10. Much less fun to enjoy

**Disclaimer**_**: I want to believe I'm an Author. Unfortunately for my ego, I am just playing in J.'s sandbox, and all the universe in this story is intellectual property of Ms R. and associates. I don't even own a Learjet. Well, if I were rich enough to afford one, I'd likely get a Dassault Falcon, but this is irrelevant to this story.**_

_**(A 7X with satcom to be able to read fanfic online while in flight. And EVS. And…hmm, yes. Sorry. OT there).**_

Chapter 10 – Much less fun to enjoy

"What the hell…?" Venus jumped away from her counter, wand out, a hex on her lips while considering the tangled bodies that had just appeared in the School's Portkey Area. She lowered it, recognizing Julie Martin and Sophie Wilkins, who had left earlier in the morning to visit a wand crafter. She kept her wand in hand, for Sophie had hers out and an automatic gun in her right hand.

"Put me through the Marshall's office, Venus" called Julie, collecting herself.

"What happened?"

"A gang of Snatchers. Sophie injured some of them…"

But Venus had already dialled 919 – the magical emergency number – and was holding the phone to Julie, who explained the situation, describing the Snatchers at the best of her abilities, while Hermione was nervously reloading the P7. Venus observed her sliding the gun back in its holster.

"Okay there, Sophie?"

"No. I suck at Magical fighting. I must thank dad for the handgun, I'd have a dick in each hole without it."

"Hey, don't…"

"Don't 'don't' me, Venus. Fuck it. I just…I didn't know how to handle myself. Sure, I put a shield strong enough that half a dozen of those drunkards could pummel it for hours, but they had me pinned down! I just shot them out of sheer frustration."

"And you made a number." said Julie. "The Marshalls were on zone before the Snatchers managed to leave the area. They were trapped by their own Anti-Apparition ward".

"How come?"

"You shot the caster in the hand."

"Oh!" said Hermione with a frown. "But didn't you tell me that they'd likely be unable to ward the area?"

"They might have activated a preset net. You just surround the area with a set of Rune stones and just activate them with a rather simple spell."

Hermione made a face, unconvinced, but her thoughts were cut short by a chime announcing an arrival in the internal apparition room. Two men in uniform stepped into the lobby.

"Now you're in for the paperwork, my dear"

_Fuck my life._

-x-

Harry Potter polished the last paragraph of the Transfiguration Essay, waved a drying spell over the parchment to avoid any stains and rolled it. Hermione would be proud of him. He stretched and looked aimlessly at the dying flames in Gryffindor common room's fireplace. He was alone, as usual. Alone, but at peace. Neville had called it a night an hour ago, Ginny a few minutes later. There was just the noise of the fire, the rain outside with the usual gust of wind howling in the intricate stonework of the outer walls.

Then it happened.

A disturbance in the fire, an unexpected growth of the flames, then nothing. Harry blinked and shook his head. _Better pack and go to…_

But a new disturbance in the fire caught all is attention. More than ever, when he saw the grinning face of his Godfather in the flames.

"1 was starting to think you'd go to bed before everyone else had disappeared," said Sirius. "I've been checking every hour or so. Startled a firstie at some point."

"You're nuts, Sirius! It's awfully risky! Why didn't you call me on the mirror?"

"I did! I just tried all day long!"

Harry sighed. "Yeah, sorry, Sirius, it's stored away in my trunk. I don't want to take chances with the mirror in my satchel."

Sirius nodded. Or he seemed to, as far as Harry could read his expression though the flames.

"How are your headaches? Does your scar still hurt?"

"It tingles, more. I can push the pain away now. Thanks to Kreacher's help last summer, and to a book Snape gave me, I think I've made progresses in Occlumency."

"SNAPE?"

"Well, yes. It's not that we get along tremendously. But he's been quite decent to me this year. In fact, he's one of the most decent teachers here. McGonagall is useless, Dumbledore borderline rude, at least with Snape I know where I stand"

"Umbridge?"

"No more detentions. Low profile. Good opportunity for working on Occlumency during DADA classes. She's a nasty bitch, though. She would do well in the Death Eaters"

"Don't think she's one," replied Sirius. "But I agree her agenda fits in with Voldemort's. You should hear Remus ranting about her."

"He knows her?"

"All Weres do. It's quite impossible for them to get a job thanks to a bill she submitted a couple years ago." Then, Sirius made an excited face and began asking for the next Hogsmeade weekend.

"Padfoot could give another shot at the King's Cross trick"

"Don't you dare take a stupid risk again, Sirius!" Harry almost yelled, "This is too much of a risk, according to Malfoy's innuendo on the Express, I'm quite certain he knows about Padfoot. Don't be careless for fun, please."

"You're less like your father than I thought," he said finally, a definite coolness in his voice. "The risk would've been what made it fun for James."

"Would mum have found it fun too?" Harry snapped back. Then, seeing the shadow of hurt in his Godfather's expression, he added in a tired voice, "Look, Sirius, I'm not him, okay? I'd love nothing more to see you around, but I don't want to see you tossed back in Azkaban, right?"

_Maybe I'd love seeing Hermione around more, in fact._

"I guess you're right, Pup. But I would've loved to meet this girlfriend of yours I've heard of…"

"Fuck off, Sirius, that's Luna, she's not my girlfriend. Just a poor soul with a life as fucked up as mine, so we have something to share."

Sirius seemed to shrug.

"Okay, Prongslet, but I don't want you to hang on the memory of the scary bookworm. I know you miss her, but she's dead, okay?"

"Don't call me Prongslet, Sirius. It's unfitting, okay?" _I am not James_ he all but yelled.

Now, Harry was upset, he would almost agree with Molly Weasley on Sirius' lack of potential as a father figure. _What the Hell am I doing here?_

-x-

Hermione was not feeling well. Her head was about to explode, her mouth was dry, she was on the verge of nausea, and overall feeling dirty. And…oh, yes. She would have smiled, but it was too painful.

"Hey, beautiful"

"Bloody hell…Those Hippogriffs did a number on me."

"Take this one"

She felt a vial in her hand, uncapped it and drank it. A few minutes later, she was feeling better. Her senses were back to normal and she could make out the layout of Ray's room.

Ray was back in front of four different computers, all buzzing their own tune. She was lying on the couch, tucked under a blanket. She grudgingly sat, eyed a bottle of tequila lying close to where her hand had been.

"Feeling better?"

"Yeah, thanks."

"You needed this one. Glad you talked to me last night, I'm the only guy in town who'll help a woman drink herself silly and stay a gentleman."

"I owe you one, Ray. How much for the bottle?"

"On the house, Sophie. And it's bottles. Plural"

"Sweet Merlin…"

-x-

Algernon Croaker was pacing in front of the few people assembled in a meeting room, deep down in the bowels of the Department of Mysteries. Soon after the news of Voldemort's rebirth, the better part of the DoM staff had activated the Dark Lord Master Plan, designed a decade ago to put the department on a battle footing should a new threat arise. And as usual, the Plan had not survived more than a few weeks after its activation. Before the first contact with the enemy, as a matter of fact. Now, everything had to be thought over once again. A long night ahead.

He suddenly stopped, ticking his fingers as he enumerated:

"Crabbe Junior, gunshot in July. We retrieved the bullet, in the wall he was leaning on, a military gauge. Sniper rifle."

"Walden McNair. Unidentified poisoning, due to a Muggle injection. The empty syringe was lying on the floor"

"Draco Malfoy, likely a gunshot, smaller calibre than the one who killed Crabbe, aimed for maiming, with good result I must add."

"Borgin and Burkes burnt to a crisp. Borgin found dead, in the rubble. Borgin was wearing a gaudy necklace with dark curse residue. Many unique artefacts destroyed."

He paused.

"And the rubber duck incident in Minister's Fudge office. It looks like there is a pattern out there."

The youngest operative cleared his throat.

"Er, excuse me sir, but what exactly is a…Rubber Duck?"

_A long night, indeed_.

-x-

It was a sight that would have puzzled more than a biologist. Somewhere in the south-western desert, a Puma and a Hawk were side by side watching the sunrise, in the chilly air of late October. Of course, said biologist would have been quite stunned by both animals morphing into human beings some minutes later.

They exchanged nods and vanished with a barely audible popping sound.

Now, their sudden reappearance a very short time later, fifty miles north, was a non-event. The man on duty at Moab School for Magical Studies' lobby barely looked at the two young women who made their way downstairs to the fitness centre.

They used the dojo for an hour working on katas. Tanita, having learnt Jeet Kune Do as a child in Kayenta, could coach Hermione in the basics aspects while twice a week, a more serious approach took place during sports classes taught by Maureen O'Grady, who had a hard time figuring out how to help her adjusting her 'inherited' knowledge to her total lack of practice. Tanita's sessions were at her image, fast, punchy, and sweaty. Tanita had a knack for noticing the flaws and would enthusiastically explain why it was mandatory to fix them.

Enthralled by the discussion, Hermione realised that she had followed the native girl in the showers instead of returning to her room. In all her years at Hogwarts, she had always kept a distance, quite a lot of modesty, as a matter of fact, in front of Lavender or Parvati who were not shy when among girls, and now, she was exposing herself…or was she? She mentally shrugged. Of course she was not. Well, she was glad to be able to apparate inside the building, since she had no fresh clothes to put on…

She nevertheless yelped – and rather high pitched – when a passing Jolene pinched her left buttock with a lewd comment.

Once dried – towels were thankfully available in the locker room, she apparated straight to her bathroom and dressed in the only businesslike clothes she had, a grey suit with heels, completed with tiny handbag and black leather satchel. She left the P7 in her safe, since she knew she would not be able to keep it during the day. After a last check of her hair made in a low bun and went downstairs, waved to Venus and after a steadying breath, vanished from the apparition room.

"Hawkeye, dear! Hermione's here!"

Hermione's father rolled his eyes: for weeks she had taken on the habit to call him by his nickname; he had somehow retaliated calling her Hotlips with the weird result that they seldom used their first names.

But her statement was nonetheless true, as Hermione came out of her room.

"You look lovely this morning, dear"

"Thanks, Mum"

"Dad's due to drive you to the airport in thirty minutes. Did you have anything to eat?"

"A protein shake after practice. I'm not very hungry this morning."

"Come on, dear, eat something"

Hermione nibbled on a bagel spread with cream cheese, without conviction. She was freed by a car pulling to a stop in the driveway. She kissed her parents goodbye and got out to climb into the car. The rear door opened seemingly by itself and she sat down beside Sam who was also wearing a suit. In the front seat, the two men in black suits and sunglasses did not even acknowledge her presence and, as soon as the door was shut, the car pulled out towards Boulder Airport.

A few minutes later, it stopped in front of a nondescript Business Jet with it's engines running. Another nondescript man in black opened the door and they moved from the car to the aircraft. Two people, a balding man and a woman both dressed in suits, but thankfully not black, were waiting for them, settled in large leather seats in the middle of the cabin. Sam and Hermione sat in the facing seats while the flight attendant, a young woman – middle twenties, dressed in guess which colour – without sunglasses but with a suspicious bulge on her lower back, was closing and double checking the door. They had not even buckled up that the Learjet – Hermione had seen the model name on a copper plate behind the cockpit – was already taxiing. A very short stop on the runway threshold and the cabin level noise increased a little, and then they were airborne.

Hermione looked at Sam, who raised an eyebrow to the man, who bent slightly towards her.

"Welcome aboard this Federal Government's jet, Miss Granger. I'm Director Pileggi, in charge of the Department of Magical Affairs, Central Intelligence Agency. This is Special Agent Anderson, Deputy Head of the Federal Bureau of Magical Law Enforcement"

Hermione's eyebrows shot up, she straightened her skirt and said:

"Nice to meet you, Sir, Madam. I might sound rude, but how come top level Federal officials are involved in the aftermath of a gun fight in Montana?"

"An easy answer, Miss Granger, I don't give a shit about what happened out there." replied Anderson.

"Oh?"

"Yes, oh." replied Pileggi. "I suppose your…uncle there never bothered telling you who provide the Passport for Sophie Wilkins and the Student Visa?"

Hermione looked at Sam who shrugged.

"Er. Thanks for the help?"

"You're very welcome" said Pileggi, signalling to the flight attendant who came with a coffee pot and a plate of Cinnamon Rolls. When she bent to pour coffee, Hermione checked her lower back – not that way, you dirty minded bastard, just above – it was likely a Sig Sauer.

Pushing the plate of pastries towards her, he went on:

"No, Miss Granger. Our main concern these days is what is happening in Britain. And we know for sure that you have a unique insight on what happened out there, and we'd love to hear your story. I suggest you pick one of those," he picked a roll for himself "to put some sugar in your system and tell us your tale."

He took a bite, nodded approvingly and swallowed before adding, "You can start from the beginning. September 1st, 1991 would be perfect. We have a three hours flight in front of us."

Hermione being Hermione, managed to squeeze her four Hogwarts years into two and a half hours, give or take a few minutes for technical stops – coffee is diuretic – and the cabin was silent as the aircraft was coming close to its destination. She had taken some time to study everyone. The flight crew was Muggle, Pileggi was likely a Squib – sorry, Magically Disabled – while Anderson and the flight assistant were both witches. She turned her seat so she could watch the landscape. The weather was splendid and all the intricacies of the Chesapeake Bay coast were visible behind them.

"Is that the Pentagon?"

Now Washington DC was visible below, as the jet was in its final approach on Washington National Airport (1). She could see Washington Monument, and from there identify the features, the White House, the Mall and the Hill.

The jet taxied straight to a hangar and they disembarked. Pileggi took a piece of rope from his satchel, and Hermione noticed that it was Anderson who produced a wand to activate the Portkey.

-x-

Harry had once again been startled by the almost sudden appearance of the High Inquisitor around a corner, on his way to the Great Hall for dinner. _Nobody ever expects the Hogwarts Inquisitor, indeed._ Justin Finch-Fletchley had earned a detention for his impersonation of the Monty Python sketch, and even if the Pureblooded Pink Menace had not caught on the reference, she was perfectly aware of the disrespectful intent.

He had barely sat down at Gryffindor table for breakfast when a Post owl swooped from the ceiling in front of him. One of the letters was from Hermione's contact, and he would not open it around Umbridge, while the other was a _proper_ Wizard Mail on parchment. Guessing it's author, he opened it; it was indeed from Jolene Raimondi. He had came to like the witty American girl, who was indeed doing some thorough research into contemporary Wizarding Britain, and the insightful questions she was sending twice a week were helpful in his own understanding of the big picture.

_Dear Harry,_

_I'm (almost) sorry for the long delay, but I had to wait for some data to emerge and you'll quickly understand._

_Thanks to V's bragging down in the Chamber of Secrets, and his letter game, I have __traced his ancestry. His name is indeed Tom Marvolo Riddle. His father was a Muggle Baronet called Tom Riddle and eloped – likely with the aid of some potion – with a witch called Merope Gaunt. He eventually broke free of her grip and she gave birth to a son before dying. Merope Gaunt was the daughter of Marvolo Gaunt, a direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin himself. _

_Tom Jr__. grew up in an orphanage in Greater London, until his Hogwarts years, although he would be back there for the Summer Break._

"Back to jail between school years, eh?"

_He was __indeed a Hogwarts student, he started 1939, was a Prefect and the Head Boy, and graduated in 1945._

_His father and grandparents were murdered in July __1943, and his uncle, Morfin Gaunt was sentenced to life in Azkaban for the crime. It's likely that V is the real killer and framed him. _

_According to some testimonies, V was already a practitioner of the Dark Arts__ while at Hogwarts, and had gathered a steady core of followers. His nickname was already in use then._

_He worked for a couple of years for Borgin and Burkes in Knockturn Alley, a surprising choice considering his school achieveme__nts. Then, Tom Riddle disappeared, forgotten by most, until Lord Voldemort started his reign of terror in the 1960s._

_I am still sorting the huge file I downloaded listing all the casualties of his era. If the last killed were your parents, some Death Eaters stayed active afte__r Nov 1st, 1981 and the final victims were Alice and Frank Longbottom, in St Mungo's long-term damage ward since then._

Harry shuddered. Alice and Frank Longbottom? Neville's parents? It would explain a lot. He vowed to try and get his friend to open a bit.

_Nothing really about you. Once all the insane stuff is in the trash can, there's nothing. I mean, nobody was there, it's all speculation. I just wonder how you story leaked. AD had put you in a safe place, nobody had seen you, yet everyone knew about your scar, your looks? Weird, isn't it?_

_Now let__'s dig a bit. Searching the UK Registries, there is a Lily Evans who died in 1981, oldest sister to one Petunia Evans, married to a Vernon Dursley, living in Little Whinging, Surrey. Where did you say you lived before Hogwarts? Even if DEs are not prone to use Muggle means of getting information, they are not morons either. It's not gospel that they would never resort to locate you the Muggle way, and it's pretty easy. _

_Fishy, hmm. Well, the more I try to understand contemporary Britain, the more I find weird things, and in this chaos, you are often the attractor, as mathematicians say._

The end of the letter was asking for more details on the Hogwarts Syllabus, sample timetables and other details. He folded the letter and put it back in it's envelope and finally started to eat his breakfast.

-x-

The Portkey had dropped them in a secluded area near one of the entrances of the CIA Headquarters in Langley. Hermione produced her passport at the lobby and received a visitor badge with her photograph on it. To her surprise, Sam pinned a CIA badge on his jacket, and they walked across the complex for a while until, after going through a maze of corridors, reached an underground meeting room. She was feeling like a Patricia Cornwell character and was somewhat excited by the whole story. She had bought "From Potter's Field" – the title had caught her interest for an obvious reason – in Boston to busy herself while waiting for her connecting flight and had quickly became fan of the Scarpetta series.

"Both Secretaries will be here at one, Director," said a plump woman to Pileggi. "Shall I get your lunches as planned?"

"Yes please, Dolly, I appreciate."

They entered the room, where half a dozen people were already waiting, mostly civilians with just a man and a woman in uniform, who, spotting Uncle Sam, came to greet him.

"Colonel Lightfoot. Nice to see you, it's been a while."

"Indeed General Trautman."

There was a little small talk and eventually, they took seats around the table, leaving only a third empty.

Pileggi formally opened the meeting and introduced Hermione.

"Hermione Granger is in the United States under the identity of one Sophie Wilkins."

"Witness Protection Program?"

"Not yet, General. Miss Granger is a British Citizen, First generation witch, and spent the four previous school years in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Miss Granger was a close friend of Harry Potter."

"Ah!"

"We have debriefed Miss Granger this morning. And we _do_ have an issue."

-x-

It had once again been a long day. Harry barely scrapped some free time to read Hermione's letter in an alcove on a deserted corridor, on the seventh floor.

_Dear Harry,_

_Things are weird. I mean, weirder than usual. I got a new wand, Juniper tree and Griffin feather – Still Gryffindor somewhere, eh? – but with a seal of Rattlesnake Venom and Lethifold fur (wtf?) on the handle. A 'grey' wand someone said. Custom made. It works very well. _

_But the trouble is…I'm useless with it. Oh, don't worry, I can use it to Charm and cast Spells and Transfigure things and so on…b__ut we got into a fight before Portkeying back to Moab. A gang of Snatchers ambushed us (I was with Julie Martin, the Charms Teacher). I could put up a shield to stop them but I didn't know how to handle myself. What to cast. What to __do__? It took me a minute to snap out of my funk and revive Julie (She'd been stunned) and I eventually made a number on the bad guys with my __Muggle gun__._

_I was so angry! I AM so Angry! I've been learning and studying and such, and…_

Harry paused. _Books and Cleverness…_And in fact, it was coming next:

_Books and Cleverness…that's worthless. I think I pissed off the whole __Moab staff, complaining. I even pissed off myself. I...no, drop it._

_Oh, Harry, I miss you so much!_

_I'm taking__ a plane tomorrow to meet some people who can somewhat help me, but I don't know who they are, yet. Crap, this Cloak and Dagger stuff is getting old. I just wish we could be together, go to classes, do homework, find a quiet place and shag your brains out._

_(*chuckle*)_

_I got it bad for you and you know what, just writing it made my day!_

_Love, H._

Harry folded the letter, with a tightness in his pants, and went to the nearest window. It was dark outside. Once his arousal was in check – he'd have to do something about it later – he moved from the cold, and paced the corridor. Hermione's words had led him to consider his own achievements in Magical Combat. He had survived a 'duel' with Voldemort, only by the sheer luck of their brother wands behaviour. He had the gut feeling that they would meet again, and this fight would be more than the settling of an old grudge. It was not by chance that he had 'vanquished' the Dark Lord in 1981. And the attack could not have been random. In the folder sent by Jolene, statistics showed that Voldemort never attacked alone, and seldom took part in the raids. So, if he had attacked Godric's Hollow himself, then it was a matter of importance. How could he, Harry Potter, fifth year student in a school where Defence Against the Dark Arts was just not taught, get the upper hand on a Dark Lord with decades of experience? He needed to improve. He needed help. He needed a place to work and train stealthily. Yes. A…

In front of him, a door had materialized.

-x-

As soon as a young man had collected the lunch trays, an officer led three people to fill the spaces in the conference room. She felt a Muggle and two magicals. She had seen the Muggle on television, often close to President Clinton, maybe seventy years old, thin, with a piercing stare which went straight to her. There was a witch she recognized as the Secretary for Magic, the US Minister for Magic. The last wizard, in a sober tweed suit, was screaming 'British inside'.

The introductions were quickly made, most attendees having already worked with the others. The Muggle was indeed the Secretary of State, the Witch Soledad Garneros, and the last Wizard was introduced as Algernon Croaker, Head of the Dark Arts Threat Division of the Department Of Mysteries.

"Thank you all for accepting my presence at this meeting." he said after introducing himself "I am here with no official position from the Ministry of Magic, and nobody in Britain is aware of my journey to America. I must add that I am very pleased to see Miss Granger alive and well, since the news of her disappearance had saddened many of us Division Heads who were expecting great things from her."

Then Croaker summarized the situation, Voldemort and the Death Eaters, Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix, the cowardly policies of the Fudge Administration and pointed out the likely presence of a fourth group involved in a guerrilla-styled work of destabilization.

Hermione noticed that General Trautman had pointedly looked at Uncle Sam.

Suddenly, the Secretary for Magic said to Hermione, "Miss Granger, it seems you have first-hand information on Harry Potter's previous encounters with Voldemort. What can you tell us?"

Hermione summarized Harry's adventures at the best of her abilities, then the Secretary asked:

"And what can you tell us on Harry Potter himself."

Hermione smiled and began talking. "I first met Harry Potter on the train to Hogwarts, on September 1st, 1991. He was scrawny, dressed in used clothes many sizes too big and sharing the largest stock of sweets I ever saw. He was modest, almost shy, caring and open. We grew closer and closer, and he was the first real friend I ever had. He is selfless, open-minded, curious and very dedicated when properly motivated. He is forgiving, loyal. Intellectually, he has a great potential, and is magically very powerful. I saw him chase a hundred Dementors with a corporeal Patronus at thirteen."

Some wizards in the room did not hide their surprise.

"His Boggart will turn into a Dementor."

"What he fears the most is fear itself."

She nodded.

"He has a…saving people thing, and while he's a natural born leader, his ability to care can be his weakness."

The room stayed silent. Then the Secretary for Magic asked, with a smile, "You do love him, don't you?"

Hermione blushed slightly.

"Miss Granger" said the Muggle Secretary of State, "our worlds – I insist on plural – are threatened by this Voldemort. You are doing a good job keeping a grasp on both, and I know how hard it is. You might very well be the key to solve this issue."

"Me?"

"Yes" said the Secretary for Magic. "You are very bright, dedicated and you have the…incentive. We need you. You are, like it or not, another _Chosen One_"

"No. I'm useless. I know too little, I'm not skilled enough…"

"Yet."

"I'm still in school. I learn lots, I like that. I can work harder, but I won't gain experience…"

"We'll train you."

"It takes time. Listen, I _want_ to be part of the fight. I need to, even."

"We'll give you time. All the time you need."

"But Harry doesn't have time to wait until I'm trained!"

"We do. We can provide you with time. All the time you need. You know the drill, don't you?"

Hermione's mouth formed an 'o'.

"You broke her, Madam Secretary." said Sam with a mock sight of exasperation. "Now we've got to fix her again"

-x-

All to soon it was November 1st. For Harry, it was the first Quidditch match of the year. Against Slytherin. Joy. Some Slytherin had initiated an intense campaign of psychological warfare aimed at Ron, who would be trying to play Keeper for the first time. Harry had a rather bad feeling about the match.

And in fact, as soon as they were airborne and the first moves made, a loud song rose from the Slytherin stands.

Stomp stomp clap.

Stomp stomp clap.

_Weasley cannot save a thing, He cannot block a single ring, That's why Slytherins all sing: Weasley is our King._

Stomp stomp clap.

_Weasley was born in a bin He always lets the Quaffle in._

Stomp stomp clap.

_Weasley will make sure we win Weasley is our King._

Stomp stomp clap.

Oh my.

And Warrington, Slytherin's new Captain, scored for the first time.

Make that a double Oh My.

The Slytherin choir, conducted by a glowing Pansy Parkinson, was singing louder and louder. Twenty nil.

Thirty nil.

Forty nil.

Forty ten.

Fifty ten.

At least. Harry dived, while Malfoy was waiting, not eager to fall victim of a Wronski Feint. But it wasn't. A couple steep turns, a quick climb and Harry's hand closed on the winged ball. Thanks Merlin.

And then he barely felt it, a sort of whooshing sound, instinctively barrelling to avoid a late Bludger. Shit, this one would have hurt. He landed close to his team, minus Ron who was still up in front of his hoops. Close to Malfoy, too, who limped towards him.

"Saved Weasley's neck, haven't you?' he said to Harry. "I've never seen a worse Keeper…"

"Yeah, me neither." Cut in Harry, before Malfoy could voice his next insult. "Well, since you're the worst Seeker in school, it balances things, doesn't it? Fair game"

And Harry turned his back to Malfoy.

So Malfoy went on, hurling insults to the Weasleys in general, Harry and the three chasers having to restrain Fred and George.

"Or perhaps," said Malfoy, leering as he backed away, "you can remember what your mother's house stank like, Potter, and Weasleys pigsty reminds you of it."

All it took was a split second. Harry would remember this very tiny time slice, because for the first time, as all the ingredients were here, in stoichiometric proportions, he felt a cold detachment from reality, pondered…and drew his wand to shoot a powerful cheering charm to George, then to Fred. Then, he walked to Malfoy.

"As a matter of fact, you're on the path to the clue, Malfoy. There's something Motherly at the Weasley's. The fact that they can make people feel at home just because they want to. Called Selflessness. Helping others without afterthought, just because it's the right thing to do. Not to make allies, or indebtedness. You should try that once. It's refreshing."

And he walked away, grabbing a chuckling George by the arm.

"Let's get out of there before those two charge into deep shit," he said to the girls.

There would be hell to pay when the charm wore off, but he had seen how Umbridge was avidly watching the scene, waiting for the brawl to explode, and her frustration when the situation calmed down. He couldn't afford giving more ammunition to the Inquisitor.

-x-

"The room is warded, you'll be safe. And the glass is stainless, we'll be just behind the wall."

Hermione nodded and entered in the tiny meeting room. Algernon Croaker was sitting in a chair, a neutral expression on his face. She laid the jacket of her suit on the back of the chair, so no obstacle could be found between her hand and the P7 handle, and sat down on the opposite side of the table.

"You have nothing to fear from me, Miss…Wilkins"

"I had nothing to fear from Albus Dumbledore."

"I am not Albus Dumbledore. I don't have enough names. Nor a sweet tooth raised to perversion."

"I'll take your word on it. So?"

"We know you, as I already said. We keep an eye on Hogwarts' best, and you've been shining since your first year. We are aware of your potential, and you have the support of the DATD. I would like to share some facts. The main one deals with Harry Potter. There's a Prophecy, kept in the DoM, a Prophecy made to Albus Dumbledore. We don't know the full text, because only people in the scope of the Prophecy can listen to it, but some part were leaked, heard by a Death Eater when it was made."

_The one with the power…_

Hermione fought back the temptation to brag with the full text of the Prophecy as told by Lily Potter. Croaker told her the first part, but he was not aware of the "marked as an equal".

"Why am I not surprised?" said Hermione, "Unless he's a paedophile, Voldemort's interest in Harry must have a reason. Well, he can be a paedophile, too. Wouldn't be surprised either. But I digress. I guess Voldemort is keeping low profile until he gets hold of it?"

"Yes, and so do we. And so does Dumbledore. His little group of vigilantes is keeping guard at the DoM."

"Wait, that's what that guy, er…Podmore, was it? He was on duty at the DoM?"

"Yes. And he was Imperiused to retrieve the Prophecy, without success. But there is another couple of things you must know. The main one is the technique Voldemort used to survive. It's something called a 'Horcrux'. The Diary destroyed by your friend in your second year was one. We think that he created five others, splitting his soul in seven parts to achieve immortality"

Hermione nodded.

"And then, I suggest you study a neglected aspect of the Wizarding Culture. The fairytales. The Tale of the Three Brothers is rather educational. Dumbledore would let you stew for quite a bit, but I'm not him. Think on Ignotus' artefact. I'm quite confident it will ring you a bell. Good luck, Miss Wilkins"

He stood up, laying a thin book on the table.

_The Tales of Beedle the Bard._

-x-

The spirit of the victory was…Missing in Action, sort of. Harry's Cheering Charm on the Weasley Twins had worn off and were offering a novel show: sulking. Ron Weasley was defeated, hence, sulking. Ginny Weasley was just sad. Some Butterbeers and snacks had appeared, but people were drinking out of boredom. It was not the usual raucous celebration. Harry quickly drank his Butterbeer and headed to the portrait hole, planning a trip to the Room of Requirement.

"Potter!" – Gred.

"Wait a minute." – Forge.

"Yes, guys?"

"Why did you prevent us for teaching Malfoy a lesson?"

"You wouldn't have taught him a lesson…"

"We'd have beaten the living shit out of him."

"And what lesson would it have been? That when you shake a red cloth in front of a Gryff, he charges like a bull? That's just what he was looking for! Umbridge was looking at the coming fight with a predatory gleam in her eye. He was BAITING us for Pete's sake. And you good Gryffs were rushing head first into the trap."

"It was a matter of honour."

"Oh, great. As if it means something when Malfoy is involved. I think I made a good job defending it myself."

"Oh, yeah. Very Slytherin of you, Harry"

He paused. Looked at the twins in the eye. Gred, and then Forge.

"So? Am I supposed to be challenged on my Gryffindor…honour, here? Go fuck yourselves, guys." Harry snapped, turning his back.

The dummies in the Room of Requirement were in for a bad night.

-x-

"…and that I take this obligation freely without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion." Hermione lowered her right hand. It had been a shock to discover that because her maternal grandmother held dual French – US citizenship, she was eligible to the newly established expeditious naturalization of children process, and thus was now a US citizen without having time to think about it. She was almost annoyed.

"Great, that's settled, then. Come on."

Pileggi dragged her though never ending corridors.

"Director, I'm only sixteen, I don't thing I can apply…"

"Hermione Granger is sixteen. Sophie Wilkins is twenty one since September 19th, got it?" He stopped, facing her. "Look, you will need to use secret facilities jointly operated by CIA and DMLE. Therefore, you need to be a CIA Agent. I cannot forge a fake identity for a non-US citizen, even for this Dark Lord of you Brits. It would be treason. But for a US Citizen, I can. Let's go."

Hermione, chastised, followed her boss to be. But she couldn't help but wonder which flaw in the reasoning she'd missed.

-x-

Harry paced in front of Barnabas the Barmy and his dancing trolls until the door leading to the Room of Requirement appeared. To his surprise, it did not shape itself has a training area, with training dummies, racks of dumbbells and punch bags. He found a cosy study, with roaring fire. He smiled. The Room was sometimes behaving like a shrink, and he wondered if some of it's magic was not working like the Mirror of Erised, adjusting his wishes to something more suitable on the long run. He once again wondered if Hogwarts was not sentient to some extent to operate such a place.

After the accidental discovery, he had called for Dobby. The Elf had explained the come-and-go room and it's mechanics, so he had been able to use it regularly for practising. So, if today the room was set as a study, he guessed he had to do some studying. He dropped himself into the comfortable chair in front of the desk and sighed, then frowned. A little book was lying on the leather writing-pad.

_The Tales of Beedle the Bard._

-x-

Special Agent Sophie Wilkins followed Director Pileggi into yet another meeting room. Her Awareness identified a Muggle and two more magicals. Introduced as Krista McNamara, the witch spoke.

"Wilkins, Director Pileggi pulled me here from a barbeque for the mad story of an agent to be put on par with the best before yesterday. That I can't do, lad, but we'll take some shortcuts. Said you were among the Moab Punks, aren't you?"

"I am."

"Good. At least they enrol neither morons nor pussies down there. Here's the drill" she said, sliding a device towards her. A strange device, looking like a toddler's game, with four shiny colour pads.

"It's set for the Portkey area in MS Square, blue pad. Regular Portkey area in this building, yellow. Emergency Room in the magical wing of Langley's hospital, red. Green is the Out of Plane training area."

"Where is it located?"

"Out of this earthbound plane, dumbass. Geographically, tied to an ancient ritual site in Nevada, in the Nellis Air Space"

"Area 51?"

"Doesn't matter. You'll spend twenty-four days periods in this place, then Portkey back to Moab for your regular day at school. That's to resynchronise you to the normal plane. 24, that's the expansion factor. Twenty-four days for twenty-four hours. Portkey out at 7 a.m., back at 7:02."

"but..."

"Ah, you caught the trap? That would make you out of Moab fro a whole day. Thus, you'll recognize this?" she said, showing a familiar looking hourglass, if a tad bigger than what Hermione remembered from a couple years ago. "Time turner, 12 hours a turn, turn twice and voila. Regular day, and so on. Five days a week. That's one hundred and twenty extra days a week. Got it? Pack a week's worth of clothes, what you feel you might need, your firearms."

"Yes Madam."

"So hit the fucking blue pad and get the hell out of here before I ain't got any steak left. Dismissed."

* * *

ANs

1) Washington National (KDCA) was named Ronald Reagan in 1998 only. Story takes place in 96.

2) For the record, in 1996, the Secretary of State was Warren Christopher.

3) In a recent review, DannyBoy2k insightfully pointed out that I'd been over the board a few chapters ago, when Draco Malfoy was shot in Hogsmeade. The trouble lies in pages 254 – 255 of Jane's Guns Recognition Guide, fifth edition. Left : The Accuracy International AW50F, Right : the Accuracy International L96A1. Obviously, in 1996, Hawkeye would use the latter, although he would have fired the Lee-Enfield L42A1 if a marksman in the Falkland War. In both cases, the ammunition is NATO 7.62x51 standard. In a haste, I picked the wrong rifle (shame on me, the AW50 production started in 1999) which is indeed a .50", with far more destructive effects than those described in the scene.

4) Pileggi, Anderson…I didn't go too far for those OC names…Trautman can be a tad harder to trace. Unless you are a fan of…ah ah. Won't tell! It doesn't matter anyway.


	11. How did you meet my Mother

_Disclaimer: Wait, what? Oh, yes, let's disclaim, shall we? Of course. Err, as you reader are likely aware, you are about to read a piece of fanfiction; that means that, when I should have imagined this universe, I was lusting on some representative of the fair sex and thus, let all the glory and the intellectual property to Ms. J. Rowling, who is the rightful owner of the Harry Potter Universe._

**Chapter 11 – How I Met Your Mother.**

Hermione checked her bags: ten days worth's of clothes, stationery, reference books, both her P7 and the CIA Issued Sig Sauer P239…After a last glance at her room – she wouldn't see it for three and half weeks, until next morning – she went downstairs to the Portkey Area, and tapped the green button with her wand, at 6:59 a.m.

The tug on her navel was rather violent, and mixed with the squeezing effect of apparition. She barely kept her balance upon landing and struggled a bit to keep her breakfast in her stomach, leaning on a palm tree. She breathed deeply, and the air she inhaled was hot and salty.

"This place doesn't look like Nevada…"

Actually, the place looked a lot like the Caribbean, felt like the Caribbean, and even smelled like it.

"Wilkins! We don't have all day! Get moving!" barked a voice she would soon be accustomed to.

"Yes Ma'am."

McNamara was looking as grumpy as when they first met. Hermione followed her inside a sort of colonial house, with what looked like a Muggle kitchen and a small dining room opening on a lagoon – blinding white sand, turquoise water – filling half of the ground floor. The remaining half was filled by a huge library with four tables. McNamara led her upstairs, where four little suites were dispersed around the landing.

"Drop your stuff here. You'll pick your room later, you're alone in the facility now. Exercise gear, keep your gun and wand, I want you downstairs in ninety seconds. Move."

She did as told, stripped to the shorts and triathlon top she wore under her clothes, and went down, following the instructor outside while securing the Sig on her lower back, where it should be less of a burden.

"This is just an evaluation drill. A single lap around the Island. Don't be too confident, the Island might be uncooperative. Go!"

She broke into a run, heading to a little headland connected to an extremity of the lagoon, and followed a track above a rocky coast, then into a jungle.

-x-

Harry felt on the floor, exhausted. The Room had provided a sort of treadmill, so he guessed he had to run on it. He'd never thought it would be such an effort to stay in the same place for half and hour. While getting his breathing under control, he pondered how things had evolved in the past few days. The help provided by Hogwarts was invaluable. At first, he thought that the Room of Requirement was the most wonderful magical artefact ever. He was now convinced that it was more than a tool, it was like…mentoring. Yes, he knew that Hogwarts herself was somehow mentoring him. The Tales book, for instance. Why had this one been selected, instead of a duelling manual? At first, he had been puzzled, but started reading it anyway; he discovered the whole universe of wizarding fairytales, a part of his culture he had never given a thought. But he had been living with his parents for fifteen months, and they had likely read him stories…he even rationalized that the only Tales he had been read were those. Later, something had clicked in the Tale of the Three Brothers. Hiding from Death under an invisibility cloak…Invisibility cloaks were usually temperamental and lost efficiency in a few years, but his own cloak, his father's cloak, was perfectly fine, without a single tear in spite of all the ill treatments it had suffered. He had expected the Room to provide him a genealogic reference of sorts, but things would not be so simple. Maybe mentoring, but not spoon-feeding. A lot of wandering in the Library, a bit of cajoling Madam Pince and after a long night over half a dozen books, he had drawn a sketch of the likely owners of the Ultimate Invisibility Cloak, from Ignotus Peverell to James Potter. During his research, he had learnt many things on his family, and this knowledge was welcome for it gave him a sense of belonging, just embittered by this sentence in the tale: _It was only when he attained a great age that the youngest brother finally took off the Cloak of Invisibility and gave it to his son_.

If only James Potter had lived to a great age. Harry would gladly relinquish the Cloak!

So if Ignotus Peverell had really existed, then his two brothers might have as well, even if, as one could guess from the tale, they had not created family lines. Thus, an incredibly powerful wand and a stone able to bring back the dead – well, some echo of them, at least, must be out there.

Another bother was the growing angst among the students on the Defence Against the Darks Arts studies, mostly in the scope of the coming OWL and NEWTS. Little study groups had sprouted across the common rooms, and he was feeling guilty keeping the Room for himself. Not that he was eager to start teaching a clandestine group – not the smart way to stay below Umbridge's radar – but some of his friends could use some help. Neville, for instance? But then, he had to keep under the Weasley Twin's radar, since they were giving him the cold shoulder since the Quidditch Match. He even wondered if they remembered he was their financial backer; he once berated himself for giving the bag of Galleons instead of formally investing it, before dismissing the idea. At least, he had the moral upper ground.

In fact, his main interest these days was the puzzling mechanics of the Room itself. How could it work? How could those expansion charms, like in the tent they had used at the Quidditch World Cup, or in Moody's Trunk, work?

Magic? Very funny, Potter. The Room could change its size depending on the needs, but it was always confined in the same volume within the Castle…_Note to self, check on Space Expansion Charms._ Something was nonetheless unnerving about the Room. Each time he activated it, he could not prevent Mr Weasley's words to resurface. _Never trust anything that can think for itself if you can't see where it keeps its brain_.

-x-

"How did it go, Hartmann?"

"Ah ah. You're getting funnier each passing day, Director." replied McNamara. Each time she was supervising the training of a newbie, Pileggi would not refrain to nickname her as the infamous Drill Sergeant(1). She even had had to see the movie, to assess that the character was doing a bang-up job with this gang of pussies he had to make into cannon fodder.

"So?"

"Eager much?" She smiled. "She's good. So far, she outruns anyone in the CIA. Good hand-eye coordination, almost feline, excellent aim even with an unfamiliar gun. Packs a punch, also. Magically, she has huge power, a repertoire far above the common fifth year."

"But?"

"She lacks confidence in her Magic, and imagination too. She's too much a schoolgirl now. Tell her to transfigure a slug into a life-size Unicorn, she'll do it in the blink of an eye. But she'll procrastinate for hours behind a shield before animating pebbles into bees to annoy an attacker or something creative." She paused. "The way I see it, we must focus her on Combat, magical and some Muggle, she has a pretty good background in Kung Fu, I wonder why. We must tutor her on magic, she's easily NEWT Level, and helping her farther will anchor her in what she's good at, study and research. We can do that."

"You seem eager to start."

"It might even be fun."

"Good."

"Now tell anyone I said that and you're down the Potomac in a concrete slab, Pileggi."

"Sir Yes, Sir"

"Sod off."

-x-

"Lemon drop, Severus? Come on, indulge me for once"

"No thanks, Headmaster."

Dumbledore shrugged. "Well?"

"The Dark Lord is getting…impatient. The previous failures had most upset him. He might involve himself more thoroughly in getting it. Did the Brat show any signs of the connection?"

"He complained about some nightmares to young Mr. Weasley, but did not share the details to him. They seem to be drifting apart, and Mr Longbottom was not eager to share anything about Mr Potter, he was rather vocal when I asked him."

Snape snorted. "You know, Albus, you're losing your touch. Granger had enough respect for authority that it would have been more efficient to nudge her our way than to remove her. And she'd lead Potter by his dick, you know there is no better way to handle a boy"

"Severus, Harry is too noble to…and The Boy Who Lived frolicking with a Muggle-born!"

Snape snorted. "Or were you planning to hook him with Weasley? Whichever Weasley, as long as it's a Light but Pureblood family?"

"Severus!" cut Dumbledore indignantly. "Of course, I thought that Mr Weasley would easily fill the void. That his influence would be more…"

"Weasley is an idiot. Potter is not, as painful as it is to admit it. And nobody with a bit of common sense would trade Granger for this Weasley. Potter is his mother's son. And each day I see more of Lily in him. He thinks by himself, now. Their parting was predictable. If he reaches his potential, things might become ugly."

"Harry still seeks the others…"

"Oh, yes, he does. Longbottom, Lovegood…But those are not what they look like, Albus. He's even distant with the Mutt. And look at the _Slytherin_ way he handled Draco at the end of the Quidditch game. He took the risk of alienating the Weasley twins. You gave a free pass to those little bastards to entertain the idea of a Marauder Spirit in Gryffindor. The Marauder Spirit is nothing but a pathetic cover for bullying. This will backfire _again_ some day."

"There's also Miss Weasley. He is friendly with her."

"So?" _Are you perverted enough to think he'll fall for his mother's copy?_ "Think of a backup plan now, Albus, or you'll have a huge price to pay."

"The stake is the same for us all, Severus. We must rely on Harry's ability to love and the path I designed for him will lead him to defeat Voldemort for good."

The Potion Master shook his head. "I can't be less popular, so I haven't got anything left to lose. And I have a gut feeling that Lily's son will get rid of the Dark Lord, even without you. Make sure that it's not against you, Albus. As you might say yourself, it is our choices, Headmaster, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities."

-x-

Harry stretched his legs. The baseline of those expansion charms was rather simple. They were just lightweight portals, built into the shape of an object, connecting the Common Reality Plane to Other Reality Planes loosely tied to the space-time continuum. The icing on the cake was the relationship with relativity: when a space is expanded, time passes faster inside the expanded space than outside. So he reckoned that, if he could convince the Room to provide him with a sufficiently large space, he would gain extra time. Extra time for working, and even for slouching around. Tempting.

-x-

While things were moving slowly in Hogwarts, Hermione was settling into another routine on her Island, twenty-four days at a time. She had a basic schedule, a 'warm-up' run along the shore in the morning, breakfast, a study session, combat training either magical or mundane, a quick lunch and a nap, then a study session again, then what McNamara used to call Tactical Training and then, by the end of the afternoon, she was free to go swimming, reading, and sometimes a bit of studying for fun.

Training and study sessions were often supervised either by McNamara or by an instructor, but she eventually figured out that the Island was somehow part of the training staff, imposing 'Constant Vigilance' whenever she would leave a safe area centred on the house, including the garden around, the closest beach and the little lagoon.

Everywhere else, it was open day for Hermione Hunting.

The scope of nasty things was rather large, from plants, animals, the landscape itself, and a huge palette of fighting dummies that would appear out of nowhere. She had even been cornered once by three dummies looking like old-fashioned clergymen yelling _Nobody Ever Expects the Spanish Inquisition_ before trying to burn her alive. This first occurrence had troubled her, wondering which corpus of fears and fantasies was used in the facility design. McNamara had replied that to her knowledge, it was just the way the place _behaved._ The place could take some Boggart traits, since she found herself facing some of her terrors, like two Harrys behaving like Weasley Twins, mocking her on her most painful spots – hair, teeth, bookishness…She had even barely escaped from a tight spot, one day she'd lost to a vicious mob of horny dummies who had started ripping her clothes off, changing into her Puma form to escape. She still wondered if the dummies would have actually raped her, but wasn't really willing to do a full check.

"The magic is intent based, Wilkins, and since this place is now sustained by the need to improve your ability to survive to _anything_, then it just does that."

Joy.

-x-

"Hello, Dolly, you look lovely this morning."

"Thank you, Colonel Lightfoot, but this joke is getting old."

"I'm not so young myself. Director Pileggi is waiting for me I guess"

"Yes, and It's a good choice to be on time today. Enjoy your meeting, Colonel."

Sam nodded with his most charming smile and entered Pileggi's office.

"Good morning, Director"

"'morning Sam. Take a seat."

Sam plopped in a leather chair in front of the huge desk. Pileggi rubbed the bridge of his nose and stared at Sam.

"Are you done with your games yet, Sam?"

"Which ones, Director?"

"Come _on_. Random freak accidents, arson, pranks…"

Sam chucked. He had just bought a couple Barbie dolls on his way to Langley.

Pileggi opened a folder. He picked a sheet of paper and waved it in front of Sam.

"This" he said, waving the page "is the facsimile of a DMLE report. I'll get to the point…"

He paused, then read, "Mr Goyle had been admitted in St Mungo's for behavioural problems, after being mobbed in Marseilles – France (2). He was found in a deserted alleyway, having almost bled to death due to internal injuries, having been impaled on a flag pole. The flag itself, extracted from his bowels, was advocating the pride of some sports club named _Paris St-Germain_. He was wearing a jersey and scarf obviously supporting the same club. He was questioned briefly by Auror Dawlish, who learned that he had been advised to disguise himself this way in order to recruit Muggle women for his son's educational purposes. He didn't provide any more information, bursting in tears whenever asked to remember anything else. How can a notoriously intellectually limited Englishman as Goyle go Muggle-Hunting in France and find himself trapped in a feud between soccer hooligans?"

"And…"

Pileggi sighed and pinched his nose, again. "Sam, I can see the benefits of your guerrilla tactics, but now we've taken your goddaughter into our ranks, you must understand that you're putting our whole approach at great risk. The Agency can't be involved in these kinds of operations. What will it be next? Burn the Ministry to ashes? Turn the Knight Bus into a Barbie RV?"

"I was thinking more on the lines of a tactical nuke on Azkaban prison before Voldemort sets his minions free, but your last idea might be a hit, Director."

-x-

"Oh crap."

Harry was undoubtedly trapped, with eight animated and fierce looking dummies surrounding him. Okay, he had already experienced this situation and never been hurt, the Room had some common sense. But it was frustrating. He had discovered that he was able to do some wandless magic, one night he'd banished one of his attacker with a push of his left hand, but he had not managed to tame this side of his Magic yet. One of the dummies on his left began advancing.

"If only I had…" the image of a shining Sword, Gryffindor's Sword, came to his mind. And to his surprise, his left hand closed itself around the hilt. Coordination was an issue, but wild slashes and some well aimed curses gave him the upper hand. Ignoring the chairs, he sat against a wall, examining the Sword. He had summoned it again, this time almost for fun, and was wondering how was Dumbledore going to react…

"At least, he will have to speak to me"

He took his time examining the Sword. It had a sort of vibration when he was holding it. It was a feeling of power, but also a soothing presence. Like a wand. He stood up, testing various ways to hold the Sword, and had an epiphany.

"Expecto Patronum!"

A blinding light burst from the sword, and the silhouette of a four-legged animal…

"Wait, what?"

No antlers?

"Are you…a Doe?"

It was. It cocked its head, like examining him. He knew that Patroni could change as the Wizard was evolving. The fact is, few wizards were really able to cast the Charm, and few as young as Harry so they still had some growing up to do…he watched the silvery animal, bursting with excitement.

"Mum?"

-x-

Somewhere, deep inside the Department of Mysteries, a burst of Magic shook some detectors, and one even exploded. In the very old registries of Magical Lines, a table updated itself. It was far at the end of a room almost no one ever entered, in a book kept closed for centuries. So the endorsement of one Harry James of the House of Potter as the twelfth Lord Gryffindor by right of Magic was completely ignored by the world of the living. A shame, really.

-x-

By the end of the third day in the third week, Hermione woke up biologically seventeen, having gained more than ten months of extra time. _Happy birthday to me._ She curled in a ball on her bed and cried.

-x-

Harry spent the next weeks experimenting with the room, asking for more and more space, noting the difference between the real time in the seventh floor corridor and the time inside the room, building an abacus. He could get more and more time to work. And even time to daydream. On a day the weather was worse than ever, he made his largest request. According to his abacus, he should get two days. At the seaside. So he asked for a tropical island.

And as soon as he had closed the door, he found himself…on a tropical Island. Complete, with blinding white sand, turquoise waters, palm trees and a volcano-looking summit covered with jungle. He stuffed his cloak and warm jumpers in his backpack and, after taking note of the location of the Room's exit – if it made sense to call it a Room now – casting a marker spell – better safe than sorry – he started exploring. He hiked to the top of a small cliff, then down a grassy path to another beach, where he suddenly spotted someone running towards him. Startled by the appearance of another human being in the room, he quickly took cover, wand out.

-x-

Hermione was on her morning run, a bit bored. Besides slight changes in the landscape, the Island had been lenient with her this day, so when she became aware of a powerful magical source, she stopped running, moving carefully to triangulate the location, before Apparating behind the shrubs where it was hidden, and tried an _Accio Wand_.

Without notice, Harry's wand almost slipped out of his grasp. The woman – she looked like one – had just Apparated behind him and tried to summon it and now, a combination of spells was coming. He ducked, summoning Gryffindor's sword. He batted a couple spells away while the woman was watching him.

_That's an ugly trick, McNamara_ she thought. The young man was looked like a slightly more fit than usual Harry Potter. As he was charging at her with a medieval looking sword, she had barely time to step back and get hold of her dagger to stop a blow. She could feel the magic of her opponent, it was an inner magic, not an enchanted object. In other words, it was a live human being instead of a doppelganger, so blasting him with a point-blank _Reducto_ was not an option.

Harry had been glad when the Sword had replied to his summons, but the woman had herself paused, almost imperceptibly, a frown of surprise on her face. Now, she was somehow holding back, since she looked far more powerful than him. Wheels were spinning frantically in his head. She looked like Hermione…was it a trick from the Room?

Hermione decided that she had to do something before they hurt each other. Pushing extra magic into her legs, she somersaulted backwards and threw a spell chain at her opponent, before her feet had even touched the ground. She heard a muffled _Protego_ but something had passed through since her opponent's wand was flying towards her.

Harry stumbled back, grabbed the sword with both hands, ready to regain his wand, when he heard a voice.

"What the hell's going here?"

Hermione had caught the wand, and the world froze. The wood. This wand was made of Holly.

Her next thought was to stop McNamara before she went Rambo on the intruder.

Harry wondered briefly how this situation was going to end. Then he knew, with two words.

"Avada Kedavra!"

_Oh shit._

The last thing he heard was a scream of despair and frustration, a scream that triggered a memory, a twelve-year girl in a bathroom being thoroughly destroyed by a troll.

Another spell chain shot from the wand Hermione was holding towards McNamara who was blasted away.

-x-

"Where am I?"

Harry looked around. Grass. Only the greener of grasses with an immaculate blue sky. _Am I being reincarnated into a cow? That'd be my paradise…_

"Meow?"

He looked down and saw a cat, rubbing his head against his calf. Something was awfully familiar. Then he heard a whimper. Something was likely in pain in a bundle a few yards away, a bundle awfully looking like the _thing_ dropped by Wormtail in that cauldron in Little Hangleton.

"You are right, it does." said a voice.

He spun on his heels and stopped.

"Mum?"

The woman nodded with teary eyes, opening her arms.

A lifetime seemed to pass, as Harry was doing is best to make it for more than fourteen years of missing something motherly.

The moaning grew louder.

"Why is a copy of Voldemort here?"

"For the same reason you're here, Harry dear. You both got hit by a Killing Curse, because your body was, and you and this piece of Voldemort's soul shared it. This a Horcrux, an accidental one, but a Horcrux nonetheless. Your soul is whole, thus has a will, this piece of Voldemort hasn't. That's why you can interact with me and he can't do anything but moan. So you have the upper hand. You can stay with me or go back to your Hermione."

Harry watched his mother, frowning.

"She's a wonderful person, you know."

"Why was she in the Room of Requirement? And who…killed me?"

"You've read on expansion charms, you know about those alternates planes. But those are not infinite. In the chaos of the Universe, reality planes can exist only as singularities. There are few singularities that channel enough power to hold large place like you wished. So magic used the same. A bit unexpected, I must confess. And the woman was Hermione's trainer, but she'll explain everything when you get back."

"I can get back…but I don't want to…I mean, I want to stay with you…you…do you know my Patronus is a Doe, now?"

"Harry, you are the Boy Who Lived, aren't you? You have a reputation to uphold. But times doesn't really flow here, you don't have to go at once. You will tell me. And, by the way, do you remember Toto?"

-x-

Hermione rushed to the fallen body. Her logical brain was trying to tell her that Harry's presence on an alternate Reality Plane customized as a training ground for Secret Agents was unlikely, but she also knew that Magic had its ways to mess with reality over reason. So she kneeled beside the laying figure of Harry Potter. She saw the sword, goblin forged, with a fancy engraving. _Godric Gryffindor_. She was shaking, and her fingers barely managed to brush a strand of black hair from his face. Those green eyes. How could someone fake such a…

"Hermione?" The prompt came as a whisper, but was carrying so much hope, that despite of all the signals sent by her logical brain, Hermione just knew. It was him. He had found her though the layers of reality across the Universe, and was there, back from infinity and beyond. She threw herself on his chest, ready to snog him fully alive when she felt magic gathering from where she had blasted McNamara. She had barely time to push magic through her free hand to stop whatever was coming.

"Bloody Hell, Hartmann!" she yelled, using the infamous nickname.

"Wilkins! Get the fuck away from him!"

"It's HIM!" she was now facing McNamara, holding a wand in each hand – hers and Harry's, kneeling between Harry and the instructor. He crawled a bit away and McNamara could not hide her surprise.

"He made it through your Killing Curse! Who else can do that? Isn't that a trademark?"

McNamara came closer, while Harry was sitting up.

"Okay there, Harry?" Hermione was trying to act her usual _in charge_ mode, but her eyes were betraying her level of worry.

"We must get him out of here!"

But both youngsters ignored McNamara. Harry nodded to Hermione.

"I think I am. I…There is a place in Hogwarts, called the Room of Requirement. I found it by chance; It uses an alternate reality plane and I asked for a large space, because I wanted a vacation far from the snow storm and all the shit in Hogwarts…"

"And they are connected to the same singularity."

"Yes. I guess as much. Mum told me…"

Hermione raised an eyebrow.

Harry cocked his head, and his trademark lopsided smile appeared. "By the way, Hermione, how did you meet my mother?"

McNamara observed the interaction between the two teens – teens for lack of better definition. For the first time since her first encounter with Sophie Wilkins, she could see a smile reaching her eyes.

She made her choice in a split second. "Wilkins, you've earned yourself a couple days off, that'll let him spend his weekend out of snowstorms before heading back to the Hellhole. I expect you to do a drill tomorrow morning, take him with you, it might help working with someone for once."

And she Disapparated.

"What the fuck just happened?" whispered Hermione.

Then she looked at Harry. Who was looking at her. She stood up, holding her hand to help him on his feet, and led him towards the hill without releasing him. The walk was rather short, ten minutes at most, and they didn't say a word. She stayed alert, but the Island seemed suddenly lenient. Days off, indeed?

She led Harry to a sofa in the sitting room, grabbed two diet sodas in the fridge and handed him one.

"So?" they said almost at the same time.

They chuckled, taking sips of their drinks to put up a bold front in the face of the uncertainties waiting for them.

"I…" they said in sync.

"We're not making this easy, are we?" whispered Harry.

Hermione watched him intently, biting her lower lip. Then, she blew some air, jumped on her feet and held out her hand. He took it and without a word, she dragged him upstairs. She opened her door wandlessly and pulled him inside. She kicked her shoes in a corner and pulled him onto the bed, where she sat cross-legged. He removed his battered sneakers and copied her.

"You should remove some layers, Harry. You're dressed for Scotland."

Harry was actually sweating; he removed his sweater, pulling his thick shirt out of his pants from his trousers. She accompanied the movement and removed the shirt. He gulped.

"Come on, Harry, we'll end up naked together sooner or later. Make yourself comfortable."

She leaned forward and pecked him on the lips. _Oops. I should have waited a bit before doing that._

"I missed you so much…" she whispered huskily.

He copied her gesture, whispering "I love you, Hermione"

"It's Sophie" she replied without conviction, first because she was not it the mood for jokes, but mostly because checking on Harry's tonsils with her tongue seemed of a higher importance. And she proved herself right, as usual: they ended up naked together, and rather on the 'sooner' side.

-x-

"I don't know, Albus, Harry is…distant. Not shutting me out, but, well…he listens to what I tell him, but then, he hardly changes his mind. He has explained without heat why he's been shutting out the three Weasley boys, and he is quite upset about the twins. Ronald in his eyes, is nothing but an immature overgrown child with the emotional range of a dropper."

"We can't let him shut out his friends this way"

"He doesn't."

"Mind your business, Snape!" growled Sirius.

"It _is_ my business, Black. And the boy doesn't shut out his friends, for he has a steady little group. Longbottom, Lovegood, Bones, Finch-Fletchley…"

"His _Study Group_" replied Sirius dejectedly.

"So what? _He_ seems to have understood the stakes in this war, Black. And he _handles_ the situation."

"My, Severus" said Sirius on a mocking tone "are you complimenting my godson? James Potter's son?"

"It would be a smart move on your part, Black, to remember that he's also Lily Evans' son. I remind you that sexual reproduction is a fifty-fifty deal between _both_ parent's genes, if the concept is not too hard to grasp for the heir of an Ancient and Noble Pureblood House"

"Why, you effing half-blood!"

Snape stood up, his best sneer at full force.

"You should have yelled that one louder, Black. It would've made your late mother proud." He said, before leaving theatrically.

Dumbledore watched the exchange, powerless. And while he was wasting time in Grimmauld Place, he was not in his office, where a couple detectors were emitting weird noises, for their ties to Harry Potter's magic were unable to properly relay information.

-x-

"Merlin, I needed that" whispered Hermione, waking up from a short post-coital nap, snuggling closer, if possible, to Harry.

"Seconded" he replied.

"Love you"

"Love you too"

Hermione stretched, and her stomach growled.

Harry sniggered.

"What? I'm a growing girl"

Harry raised himself on an elbow, observing her.

"You're beautiful" he said, then bit his lip and added "You've changed a lot"

"How come" she asked with a mock pout "was I ugly before?"

But her eyes were betraying her and Harry did not take the bait.

"No, of course not. It's just, you're strong. Physically."

"You're not bad yourself, Potter. You've put some muscle on that scrawny frame of yours," she said, her fingers trailing on his chest, the downwards to his abs and…

"Nice stamina, indeed" she said.

The stamina of youth kept them busy for the better part of the day, with a pause when Hermione's empty stomach won over her full libido. They showered once to wash out the effects of their steady love-making, a second time to remove the sand and salt from their swim in the lagoon, then a third, because the second had degenerated. Harry had begged Hermione to get a little dinner, nothing fancy, but he wanted, for the first time in his life, to cook something he would enjoy later. A Patronus came as they were busy in the kitchen. McNamara's voice resounded: "are you decent, kids?"

Hermione casually flicked her wand and the Otter rushed outside.

"Silent Patronus?"

"After today…Honestly."

Harry blushed, but noticed something:

"Is that your new wand?"

She nodded, and was about to elaborate when McNamara came into the room.

"Hello, Kids. Was your shag fest enjoyable?"

"Exceed Expectations, Sir!" snapped Hermione, while Harry choked on the piece of food he was sampling.

"You've put him to work already? Good lad. Now, I just came to check on you and chat a bit. I denied access to Colonel Lightfoot in case he tried to play the protective godfather act on your friend. We had a quick chat with Pileggi about Harry's presence here. Our main concern is the durability of the interconnection between Hogwarts and the Island. Theoretically, it should always remain functional, but if it can't be established again, we might lose an opportunity to exfiltrate Harry."

"You'd want me to leave Britain?"

McNamara shrugged. "It might be a good idea. After all, they picture you as an attention seeking lunatic. Prove them wrong, get out of the picture"

"But I have friends over there. I don't want to leave them to their own devices."

"Think on it, Potter. Anyway, they are thinking about bringing you into the loop. I know you don't handle the mushroom treatment well. Nobody does. Wilkins, you should take him along on your session tomorrow, just to see how you fare together. Emergency meeting tomorrow, by eleven a.m. local, so don't make a mess, or tidy up a bit afterward."

McNamara nodded and began to walk away, to pause on the kitchen's threshold. "Oh, by the way, Potter, sorry for killing you yesterday. I went overboard when the alarms went off."

Harry finished setting the table, and looked at Hermione. "Is that Moody's sister?"

-x-

"We have fifteen minutes before the meeting. How did it go, McNamara?"

"What happened on the Island stay on the Island, and they didn't even try to disembowel me."

"Is he really immune to the Killing Curse?"

Before any answer to the question might be suggested, Algernon Croaker made it into the room, slightly shaken.

"Ladies, gentlemen. I so hate those international Portkeys. What happened?"

He surveyed the attendees. Pileggi, Lightfoot, and a woman he hadn't met before.

"Potter." Said the woman.

"What's with him?"

"He appeared in the Alternate Plane where Wilkins is training. From a similar room in Hogwarts."

"Oh. And then?"

"Set off a bunch of alarms. I used the monitoring charms to get on zone. Found him fighting with Wilkins. Hit him with a Killing Curse." said McNamara in an over-grumpy voice.

Croaker made a face.

"Damned Potter lived up to his nickname. Didn't die, though he had a NDE, or sort of."

He smiled.

"Why am I not surprised?"

"We meet them in ten minutes. Any ideas on how to sort this mess?"

-x-

Hermione was running at a sedate pace, mainly because Harry was panting in her trail, but also because she had some sore parts from their past activities. The Island had been rather lenient today, just a couple ambushes which they'd swiftly cleared. She let her mind wander, imagining what life would be with Harry at her side. Shorter nights, for once. A bit caught in her daydreaming, she did not detect the oversized anaconda lurking in the jungle. Harry did, catching the movement and screamed, so she barely managed to jump out of the snake's reach.

"Hermione, wait!" yelled Harry "_Stop!_"

The snake stopped, while Hermione held her curse, the tip of her wand glowing with the gathered energy. She backed a few steps, her wand pointed towards the snake. Harry came closer, observing the scaled beast.

Harry swallowed.

§You, stop!§ replied the Snake.

_Well, looks like I'm still a Parselmouth._

§We're just passing by§

§You're on my land!§

§So what? We don't eat your food, don't steal your younglings§

The snake tightened its coils, ready to attack.

"How's diplomacy doing so far?"

Harry did not answer, casting an overpowered _Impedimenta_ to the snake, efficiently thwarting its attack.

§next time, you're dead§ hissed Harry, as the two humans broke into a run.

Half a mile later, they had an uneventful encounter with a Lethifold, Harry's Patronus dealing with it in a heartbeat.

"Your Patronus changed." noted Hermione, as they resumed their trip.

"I changed." replied Harry.

"It's still impressive. It's almost solid."

"I don't even need a memory when you're around, my dear."

"Aren't you becoming the flirt, Mr. Potter?"

"No, just telling the truth. Moreover, the fabric of your top helps."

Indeed. Triathlon tops and erect nipples are always motivating for male teenagers.

"Stop ogling, Potter, and hurry up, we might have time for a shag before the meeting."

"Yes, dear."

Sadly, they had just finished stretching after the training run when four silhouettes materialised out of the portal. They quickly showered and joined the four adults in the sitting room.

"Harry, this is Director Pileggi, my boss at the Agency, my godfather Sam Lightfoot and Algernon Croaker, from the British Department of Mysteries"

She had told Harry about Croaker and the super-secret organisation within the DoM, so he wasn't surprised, but nonetheless eyed him suspiciously.

"I'll get straight to the point, Mr Potter. We can consider giving you shelter in America. You could be trained with Agent Wilkins, safe from Voldemort and Dumbledore, and go back once ready. It's your choice."

Harry frowned. He had spent a lot of time weighing the pros and cons of the idea with Hermione.

"Thank you for the offer, Director. Herm…, er, Sophie explained the interest of the Agency in solving the Riddle issue to me, and I really want to trust you. But so far, I plan to return to Hogwarts and check if this encounter was a fluke or if the portal from the Room of Requirement is reliable. If it is, I'll stay there, maybe adopting a pattern like Sophie's to train here. If not, I'll consider your offer and likely escape from my godfather's house in London during winter break."

"All right. That will leave us with more time to plan something. After all, we had just an hour since you appeared here yesterday. Croaker?"

"Are you familiar with Horcruxes, Mr. Potter?"

Harry nodded. "Ginny Weasley was possessed by one of Riddle's three years ago, I destroyed it with a Basilisk fang. I didn't know what it was then. Another one had been found by a defecting Death Eater, named Regulus Black. Thanks the Black's Elf, Dumbledore destroyed it. I had been made – unwillingly – into another one when Riddle tried to kill me in 1981. It was destroyed yesterday by Ms McNamara overenthusiastic cut-in. So yes, I'm familiar with Horcruxes."

A stunned silence felt on the room, hardly filled by the distant noise of the backwash on the Coral Reef closing the atoll.

Croaker cleared his throat. "Well, we guessed he had made many of them. Theoretically, he should have split is soul in seven parts, that makes six Horcruxes, minus the three destroyed, that's three left to find."

"Assuming he knows that Harry is one; if not, he might have made another one" observed Hermione.

"Dumbledore might have a clue. He knows I was made into one." said Harry, frowning. "Of course! Everything makes sense. Even Hermione's disappearance!" he stood up, pacing. "Just consider this. Dumbles knows I'm a Horcrux, and the only way to defeat Riddle for good is to kill him after destroying all of them, including mine. For a reason I can't figure out yet, I'm being schooled to be the ultimate sacrifice, to vanquish the Dark Lord, and if I can face my destiny willingly, so much the better. So I'm kept in Durzkaban for ten years, belittled by the Dursleys, so when I'm back in the Magical World, I have the perfect grandfatherly figure to look to. Some nudges here and there, some pushes toward proper pureblood families to anchor me in the Light…No need to train me, no need to inform me."

Harry paused, eyes closed, breathing slowly. Hermione was impressed, the old Harry Potter would have already destroyed the room with his anger.

"And then…" he whispers, looking at Hermione. "Then suddenly, I have a reason to live. To second guess urges to sacrifice myself, moreover to save a community that is quicker than lighting to shun me…"

Silence.

"The Prophecy!" said suddenly Harry.

"Which Prophecy?"

"_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord…_" quoted Harry. "Yes, of course". He quoted the whole prophecy, as told to him by his mother.

"Oh shit…" said someone.

The room was silent for a few minutes.

"My offer still stands, Mr Potter" said Pileggi. "Take your time to consider it, but avoid being killed in the meanwhile"

* * *

**ANs**

(1) Cf. Spielberg's Full Metal Jacket, for those who missed the reference in Chapter 1.

(2) Well, my first choice was Arsenal/Manchester, but I'm not sure that the rivalry between they supporters can be that bloody. I know that this rivalry exists between the hooligans that 'support' those two French soccer clubs and already led to deadly encounters.


	12. Riding though Paris in a sports car

**Disclaimer: The government denies any involvement of one Horace Nihil in the operation "Harry Potter Books" carried since the 90's by one J.K. Rowling who is the owner of the intellectual property regarding the referenced universe. Whatever I want to believe, this is nothing but fanfiction and a piece of fun.**

**And despite being a software architect involved in Java-based solutions, I have no ties whatsoever with Larry Ellison (a shame, really).**

**Technical weirdo : _I had quite an adventure yesterday when I uploaded this chapter without turning revision tracking off in Word. Some readers kindly pointed out the mess that it was and I removed it last night. Fresh and early this morning, it seems I managed to get something readable. Apologies for the inconvenience._**

Chapter 12 – Riding through Paris in a sports car?

The Cold. Not the Dementor cold, just the Scottish winter cold. Harry hastily pulled a jumper and his scarf from his bag. Stepping from the Caribbean straight into the seventh floor corridor in Hogwarts was a shock. A quick _tempus_ spell showed it was almost curfew. Harry slipped under his Invisibility Cloak to walk back to Gryffindor Tower; better safe than sorry.

The common room was rather boisterous, most students relaxing from the strenuous week. Harry slipped towards the secluded table where Neville was working, and quickly went to work, checking the past week's coursework and making a list of the due assignments. He thanked the planner he was now using, because the various homework deadlines had sunk at the bottom of his mind during the two stolen days he had spent on the Island. After a few minutes, he scowled. A few more days would have allowed him to complete his work at a leisurely pace while spending quality time with Hermione...

"All right there, Harry?"

"Spiffing."

"You look great" replied Neville. "How did you get your tan in late November?"

_Crap. When did Neville become so insightful?_

"Er...Snow reflection?"

Neville raised an eyebrow, and then shrugged.

"Okay, I won't ask questions..." he whispered "...as long as I don't want you to bullshit me."

-x-

Hermione stepped out of the portkey area in MS-Square lobby, gathered a bit of magic and apparated to her room, too tired to climb the stairs, undressed and collapsed in her underwear on the bed. Thankfully, it was Friday and she did not have to avoid her future self using the Time-turner to re-synchronise with the timeline. The last training session had been more than rough and she was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

The cold woke her up. Clutching the duvet, she tried to go back to sleep, but soon realised she was no longer in a virtual Caribbean island but in Moab, it was early December and if she believed the pale light coming from her window…yes, a thin layer of snow was covering the city.

She slid on a thick nightgown and padded to her kitchenette to make herself a mug of coffee, petting Crookshanks.

"I love you, old friend" she said to the cat "but I miss Harry. He's a fantastic bed-warmer, you know?"

_Yeah._ Though the cat, _and who's been walking funny last week?_

Oblivious to her familiar's snarky thoughts, she looked distractedly through the window, letting her mind wander. As a matter of fact, it wandered straight to the point she had to choose between an ice-cold shower and hand-made relief. Easy choice, shower later.

_Humans and their hormones..._

A couple of hours later, somewhat refreshed, a little puzzled by Crookshank's unexpected pouting, she walked into the cafeteria, feeling ravenous. Most of her friends were sitting at one of the large tables and she joined them, slightly hesitant. Her time regimen was taxing, and the three week gap while the others had just met the previous evening was difficult to handle.

"Hey Sophie. Slept well?"

She shrugged.

"Rough night?" asked Jolene with a predatory grin.

"Sorry?"

"I saw you apparate out of the Portkey room. Been at your parent's?"

Hermione nodded evasively, digging into her bowl of fruit.

"Is there something wrong with them?" asked Ray.

Hermione dropped her spoon in the bowl. Everyone had stopped eating and was eyeing her expectantly, more concerned than curious. They just wanted to help, and she felt like icy fingers squeezing her heart. She bit her lip, thought it over for a few more seconds and after exhaling soundly, whispered in a slightly strangled voice:

"Listen guys, don't ask me questions and I won't tell lies, ok?"

She was no longer hungry.

She was summoned to the Headmistress office a couple of hours later. She found Melissa Hawthorne and Louis Bellerive waiting for her, seated at the meeting table. She took a seat and looked at them expectantly.

"I got your mail, Sophie" said the Headmistress.

"It doesn't make sense, does it? I mean, pretending to be a normal student here."

"What do you want to do?"

She shrugged.

"I want to stay here, twenty-four seven give or take some outings and vacations. Do assignments, lab work, hell, gardening in the Farm, bring a boyfriend once upon a time…I'd even get pissed once a month to blend in…"

"But you can't" said Bellerive.

"No, I don't."

Silence.

_Don't cry, Hermione. _

Melissa Hawthorne eventually broke the silence.

"So?"

"Can I sit my OWLs at the end of this term?"

The Headmistress nodded.

"It's not an issue. There's an open winter session in Salem. You could sit your NEWTS in spring, I suppose. I'll set this up with the Department of Education."

She blinked out a tear.

"I'll miss here."

"We'll keep your room available. And you can come back for a Mastery when your current issues are dealt with. You can even bring company."

She smiled shyly.

"I'd like that very much".

-x-

Harry had spent the weekend clearing his backlog of homework, delaying the test. It was already late in the afternoon, and the Castle was almost deserted, most of the students sheltering in the cosy warmth of their common rooms.

He paced expectantly in front of the Room of Requirement, dreading the result of the experiment. His worries eased a bit when, opening the door, he felt a burst of warm and moist tropical air. He stepped inside, discarded his winter overalls and jogged through the jungle. When he had to bargain once more with a territorial snake, he started feeling confident. The house was there, empty. He took a sodafrom the fridge, walked upstairs to Hermione's room, to find it empty, as he had foreseen. He smiled, seeing a pair of discarded black knickers – Brazilian cut – and considered pocketing them, before changing his mind.

-x-

Hermione entered the Island Lodge for the day – the days. She was sad, and had a growing distaste for tropical vacations. She sipped a cup of coffee and nibbled on a muffin, then made a run upstairs to drop her bag and change clothes. She was just about to review her schedule for the upcoming days when she noticed the sheet of parchment on the bed, under a neatly folded black piece of underwear, and made the connection. Suddenly, she had a very good feeling about the coming session.

-x-

Skipping stones is an easy way to empty one's mind, to wash over the stress. ScotlandScotland's winter was colder than usual, and the lake was beginning to freeze, but two girls wearing their warmest clothes were nonetheless wandering on the shore, carefully examining the pebbles, choosing the most suitable to throw expertly on the water. Today, like each time these two played this game, Luna Lovegood was easily beating Ginny Weasley, sending her stones farther with twice as many bounces.

Engrossed in their game, they never noticed the silhouette in dark clothes rounding on them, wand drawn. This lack of awareness should have drawn the path to an unpleasant future, but the silhouette suddenly froze, before collapsing on the ground. None of the girls noticed the tiny humanoid creature snap her fingers above the fallen body, making it disappear.

Farther into the forest, the loud noise of a mass crashing dead wood drew the attention of a passing acromantula, who had not eaten enough to face the cold. Yet.

-x-

"Mum, dad? I'm home!"

Hermione dropped her bag in front of her bed and opened her room's door to peek inside the house. Her mother waved from over the laptop sitting on the coffee table. It felt good to be home. That had been her new routine for the previous day. A week ago, she had passed her OWLs in a blink – the hardest point being answering at the requested level, without digressing and spitting out her whole advanced knowledge on the subject. And the next Monday, her training regime had started slowing down. She would just spend three weeks in the Island – less than a full day in real life – and then go to work.

When McNamara had broken the news, she had been astonished.

"You don't really expect the Agency to pay you to slack off?"

"Pay me?"

McNamara had shrugged.

"Of course you are paid. Well, you are paid on the real-time basis, don't expect the Government to pay you the Island time as overtime."

"I'm paid?"

"Of course you are. You are a CIA agent, aren't you? Therefore, you're paid, unless you thought it's community service? So pay, gotta earn it, kiddo"

And thus, Hermione had reported in Langley on the next Tuesday. She had a phone line, a desktop computer in a cubicle, with colleagues who had families, children, attended barbecue parties and sports events and went to the theatre…it was rather surreal, after more than two years almost by herself on the Island, with the distraction of the scattered days in Moab. She had apparated back in her room in Boulder with a terrible headache, mostly due to the sheer absurdity of the situation. Now, as she had just apparated inside her room, she could not fathom how she had been moved to an alternate universe of such epic proportions.

"You're getting good at apparating, Kitten. I didn't hear you popping in."

"Thanks mum. What's new and exciting?"

"You'll be pleased, I guess. We have plans for Christmas"

"You _do_ have in mind that even if I'm spending less time on the Island, Christmas is still in a few months in my calendar, don't you?"

Hermione's mother replied with an annoyed scowl, but went on:

"I'm perfectly aware of the fact that you're eighteen biologically, and it's not making me feel any younger, thank you very much". Then, she relaxed, smiled and added:

"But to relax a bit after your exams, would you fancy spending time with your grandmother?"

"Is she coming here?"

"No, we'll stay there"

"In Paris?"

"Well, yes. She still lives there, after all."

-x-

Harry left the Room of Requirement – tropical resort extension – in a sombre mood. He was not looking forward to spend the Christmas Break within the damp walls of the Grim Old Place, even with the prospective of some wandering in the Black Library. Moreover, Hermione would be in Europe, an apparition jump from London, but would be grounded in Paris the whole time. He was more than ever tempted to raid his vault in Gringotts, change Galleons for some pounds and buy tickets to France. Once out of Britain, he'd cover his tracks with some short trips across Europe before vanishing on a plane heading to America. Or better: sail across the ocean! Yes, that would be lovely. They could buy a boat and…

"Harry!"

He was stopped in his daydream of sailing with Hermione by a call.

"Professor Lupin? What are you doing in Hogwarts? I'm surprised Her Toadness hasn't called the Aurors"

Lupin chuckled.

"I've told you many times to call me Remus"

"Yes, but walls have ears, here" whispered Harry "I don't want to give too much information away"

"Paranoid much?"

"Only paranoids survive, Professor Lupin. And in those terrible days, when awful things happen, even on Hogwarts grounds…"

Lupin cocked his head.

"Theodore Nott was found dead in the forbidden forest yesterday. He ended as Acromantula food. He'd been missing for three days when Hagrid found him. The funny thing is, it hadn't snowed for a week, but not a single footprint was found. The best guess is that he was practising apparition and fucked up big time, straight into the spider's territory."

"Yes, I've heard. And on the topic of _Constant Vigilance_, how come you're wandering alone in the Castle. This is neither the route from the library to Gryffindor tower, nor to the Great Hall…"

Then, the Werewolf sniffed ostensibly, before smiling knowingly.

"What?" said Harry, defensively.

"Hmm, nothing. Got yourself a new aftershave, Prongslet?"

_Don't call me Prongslet!_

-x-

"Bienvenue à Paris Mademoiselle."

"Merci monsieur, bonne journée."

Hermione walked through Customs, wincing at the lewd comment the customs officer was making to his colleague, as if no stranger was able to understand French, into the unwelcoming hall. Charles de Gaulle Airport was up to it's reputation for dullness. Her parents joined her and they made their way to the taxi queue. The weather was cold, wet, a thin rain with some snowflakes was falling. So much for the City of Lights.

The taxi driver was in a foul mood, the highway jammed, gifting them with a never-ending show of decaying factories and dilapidated buildings, and they eventually checked in at their hotel utterly exhausted, in spite of having slept through the flight thanks to a few vials of Dreamless Sleep potion. Luckily enough, the hotel was just across Hermione's grandmother's flat on rue de Rennes.

-x-

Remus Lupin was in a rather good mood. Dumbledore's current assignment did not, for once, imply wandering in the worst hellholes of Great Britain to try to convince his 'fellow' werewolves to remain neutral or even support the man who didn't raise a finger to prevent the adoption of the most restrictive laws ever passed against them. Joy.

No, he was wandering in the streets of one of the most beautiful places in the world – Paris, the City of Lights – with some free time and a decent bag of money, thanks to Sirius.

Remus Lupin was walking along the Seine, whistling a jaunty tune, when suddenly, the werewolf kicked in, awakened by a somewhat familiar scent. A small group of tourists was walking in front of him, and the December wind was carrying something which rang a bell. Yes, that was the scent he'd caught on Harry a couple weeks ago, if a bit stronger. And there was something else to it. Someone he'd already met. He walked faster, getting closer.

That couldn't be…he didn't recognize any of the silhouettes, but there was a young woman, who could just be no more than a couple years older than... They turned a corner, then another. Crossed a bridge towards Notre-Dame, then back on Rive Gauche. He walked faster to avoid being separated in the crowd, while the group was disappearing in one of those narrow streets. He almost ran and…

"Tu bouges un poil de cul et tu es mort."

The order was stated in French with an English accent. He was not sure he understood the exact meaning of the words but the wand pointed to his forehead was unnervingly glowing green, clearly conveying the message – you move, you die. Now the scent…The facial figures…

"Hermione? Hermione Granger?"

"Don't move, Lupin, or you're a fucking dead Werewolf."

"Dumbledore said…"

"Shut up" said a voice behind him.

He was surrounded, outnumbered, and overpowered. Beside Hermione was a woman in her forties, likely her mother, who looked rather defiant and was holding an impressive Muggle gun rather casually. The green glow faded, and the young witch nodded – likely to a signal from one of the men behind him and slightly twitched her wand, summoning his own without a word. Another flick and he was bound in ropes. He heard the faint noise of a disapparation behind him.

"I'll give you a call at the Hotel when it's sorted out"

"Right Kitten"

She took him by the shoulder, squeezing harder than necessary, and he felt the forced apparition, before landing in a sort of basement, where three men were waiting for them. He recognized the scent of the dark-skinned one, it was the one who had disapparated first. The other two were dressed in black suits and sunglasses, even in the barely lit room. The effect was quite unnerving.

Hermione pushed him on a chair and banished his ropes. He had a thousand questions running through is head. Was it really Hermione? Who could do silent magic casually, side along apparate him and have a Killing Curse ready?

"Dumbledore said you were going to be schooled in the US and…"

"He lied."

"That you died in this aircraft accident."

"He lied."

"Did not! It's Dumbledore!"

Hermione stepped closer, grabbed him by the collar and lifted him up a couple inches. Her strength was amazing, and he wondered if she hadn't been turned, but she was not feeling like a werewolf. It was just strength, and it was rather terrifying by itself.

"I find your excessive faith in Dumbledore…disturbing, Lupin" she growled slowly.

"What happened to you, Hermione? You were always respectful and…"

He found himself lying at one end of a room, the chair upturned and his forehead aching. Did she just headbutt him?

"Don't _Hermione_ me, sucker!" she yelled. "_You_ tell me what happened to Hermione Granger. Why she had no memory of her four years in Hogwarts, why her Magic was restrained? Why she was left slowly sinking in insanity?"

"I don't know!"

"Why should I believe you? Now, you are alive only because I don't want to cut Harry from one of his last remaining ties to his parents, _yet_. Are you worth it? Where were you last summer when he needed you? Oh, yes, of course, you were on duty for the Order. And when Sirius was trying to emotionally bully him into being a placeholder for the late James Potter?"

"How do you know…"

"Do you really think Harry would forget the girl he loves so easily? Do you really thing I would have forgotten the man I love so easily? Do you really think we are all brainless puppets that can be manipulated without side effect, as Dumbledore seems to think?"

"You don't know shit! You don't get the big picture. If Dumbledore made those decisions, it was for the greater good!"

"I wouldn't bet a knut on that. Listen, I went to hell and back more than a couple of times since the end of the Tournament. For Harry. And I grabbed some clues on my way"

"Maybe he's right, after all. I wouldn't believe it, but you do sound like your academic achievements weren't enough, you had to snatch the Boy Who Lived on top of it all"

Hermione stepped back, torn between hilarity to the preposterous statement or anger.

"That was a low blow, Lupin. I would have expected that from Malfoy, but that was low." She said sadly. "I love him, you know. I really do." She added in her softest voice. "And I know he loves me!"

"You're a delusional bitch, then. He doesn't need someone like you. He has a loving surrogate family. Maybe Skeeter was right…Maybe…"

"I've been the only one for him! When Weasley was scared by him being a parselmouth, I was there. When he saved Sirius, I was there. When nobody believed him after the Goblet of Fire fiasco, I was the only one! How dare you doubt me!"

Lupin spat, missing her by an inch.

Her wand was out and this time, he understood. He saw the hurt in her eyes, and the fury. The rejection, he felt the power of the magic gathering and the curse coming. And he knew he had gone too far and deserved it.

"Cr…"

Not even the first syllable. She seemed stricken by the lack of control on her own anger.

"Agent Wilkins!"

She lowered her wand. He noticed it was not the wand she had at school. She flicked it to set his chair straight. Her Magic was ready to explode, and she closed her eyes, breathed deeply and whispered "Thanks Doherty."

"You're welcome, Wilkins. He was pushing it, but you are not licenced to crucio a suspect."

"You're right. Let's start all this over. Sit!"

He sat shakily on the chair. She removed her jacket, picked something in a pocket and pinned it to her belt. A badge. He also noticed a Muggle gun in a hip holster.

"I'm special agent Sophie Wilkins, Magical Affairs Division, Central Intelligence Agency. These are Major McKeenan and Special Agent Doherty. You are detained in the facilities of the United States Embassy in Paris, so subject to American Laws, according to which, for attempted assault on a US citizen in a foreign country, you are facing a twenty years sentence in Alcatraz. Think yourself lucky, if we hand you over the French DMLE, since you qualify for Dark Creature attack on wizards, the disposal is immediate. Got it?"

Remus nodded. "Brilliant but Scary" had once said Ron Weasley. Indeed.

"Now we must establish if you were acting out of honest curiosity tonight or under direct or indirect order of the leader of a non government sanctioned militia."

-x-

In number twelve Grimmauld Place, a routine meeting was reaching its end. Most attendees had already left, and Arthur Weasley was putting his travelling cloak on.

"Won't you stay for dinner, Arthur?"

"I'm on duty at the DoM tonight, don't you remember, Sirius?"

"Oh, yes, of course. I just wanted to ask if you had got some feedback on Harry through Ron?"

"Unfortunately yes" replied Arthur Weasley. "Not only from Ron but, in a way, from Fred and George"

"In a way?"

"They seem to have shut him off. It's like he doesn't exist anymore. It happened after the Quidditch match against Slytherin. They had a…disagreement of sorts and now…" Arthur Weasley left the sentence hanging, the whole situation evading his grasp.

"And Ronald?"

"Ron? He doesn't care. He simply doesn't care. I sometimes think that if You-Know-Who was offering him more food than Hogwarts, he'd switch allegiance without an afterthought"

"Arthur!" said Dumbledore, outraged. "Aren't you a bit harsh with your youngest son?"

"Try and be a father, Albus, before you pretend to teach me. And in the meanwhile, I have something to keep watch on tonight."

Albus Dumbledore watched the retreating back of one of his most faithful and trusted followers. So far. Such a hard job…

-x-

Harry was on his way back from the Room of Requirement, half an hour before curfew, after yet another gruesome training session, an eye on the Marauder's Map to avoid troublesome encounters. He was in a sad mood, not having seen Hermione for more than a week since her last stay in the Island, and missing her company a lot. He was also missing having sex with her, and he was thankful he was wearing jeans under his robes: the effect his memories of her showed quickly southwards... He was halfway from Gryffindor Tower, when he caught a glimpse of activity, some dots and names grouped a short distance from his location. Slipping under the Invisibility Cloak, he went on, passing in front of yet another unused classroom. The sheer number of those 'unused classrooms' was so impressive that he could not fathom the actual percentage of the Castle's facilities really in use. What a waste! Had the founders been over-zealous or was the Wizarding population crippled by a low birth rate? That could make a good Sociology subject in MS-Square: _The Effect of Pureblood Inbreeding on Floor Space Waste in Educational Facilities: a Study_. Chuckling, he was already quickening his pace when a last glance at the map made him stop. Frederick Weasley. George Weasley, and a third name. Had it been 'Lee Jordan', he would have passed his way with barely a shrug, but it was of a third year girl he barely knew. _It doesn't look like a tutoring session_ he mused. A quick and dirty warding had been applied to the door, so he turned in a narrow corridor to reach the teacher's backdoor, which had not been warded. He smiled.

_Constant Vigilance my __arse_.

He slid his wand under the door to cast a mild notice-me-not charm in front of it and then, proceeded to silence the lock and the hinges before half-opening it. The girl was bent in front of one of the twins, half naked, and the movement of her head left no doubt regarding to what she was doing. The other twin, behind her, had pulled his trousers down and opened his robes, revealing an erect member of modest size. The whole situation tuned down the excitement he felt from his musings regarding Hermione, and he listened in.

"Just tear her little arse, Fred." said George – obviously.

"I sure will, Brother of mine."

"For educational purposes of course…"

"Education of the youngsters is fundamental"

"Sure it is. Now bugger her silly, Fred!"

_It will not hurt too much_ thought Harry, but the girl nonetheless let a muffled scream when the first thrust happened.

"Next time" said George, grabbing the girl by the hair to push his sex further in her mouth, "you'll think before telling lies to Pomfrey"

"Your little friend" added Fred, pushing his hardest, "was paid to test the prototype"

_Using my Galleons_ thought Harry, slightly nauseous.

"He was helping the utmost science of Pranking, you see…"

"…and we had contracted him."

"So before jumping to conclusions and being nosy…"

"Think about the consequences…"

The end of the sentence was muffled by the cry of George's release in the almost suffocating girl. He eventually pulled out as she began vomiting while Fred was still enjoying himself. Harry stumbled backwards with the acid taste of bile in his own throat.

He left the corridor and his first thought was to head to Umbridge's office to submit a memory. Then, he wondered if she would not try to frame him with rape and headed towards the tower with dread. He had guessed for a time that behind the easy going pranksters was hidden a pair of bullies, but tonight, they had revealed themselves as sick bastards.

Ashamed by his own lack of action, he made his way to the tower, stopping for a few minutes in a bathroom to throw up, and headed straight to his dormitory, well aware that sleep would be sparse this night.

And it was. He was ashamed by his lack of action, and replayed the scenemany times in his mind, unable to come up with a plan that might have worked, besides maiming the twins and obliviating the girl.

But his main concern was the low morale of the so-called Light. Mundungus the thief, the Weasley twins, Tonks, careless and clumsy, Snape and his issues, Sirius, half mad and fully depressed, the overprotective to the point of paranoia, level of Alastor Moody, Lupin and his everlasting guilt, Molly Weasley and her delusions of childhood innocence, and at the very top, Dumbledore's half-truths and manipulations.

_Was the Magical World worth saving?_

He eventually drifted into an uneasy sleep to suffer a nightmare of corridors, attacks and frustrations, and woke up sweaty. It was just a genuine nightmare, not a vision…he had to take several long breaths to calm his pounding heart, but his scar was not aching. He quietly left his bed, grabbed clean underwear and went into the bathroom. He silenced a stall and after undressing, turned the water on full force, staying still, letting his mind wander. Thankfully, the hot shower allowed him to relax, his thoughts wandering towards sharing another shower with Hermione...

He went back to his bed clean and relaxed and fell asleep at once.

He was jerked awake by a ruckus around Ron's bed. The Twins were having a hard time waking him up. He silently summoned his glasses to try to make sense of the scene when McGonagall entered the dormitory.

"Weasley! Up, it's an emergency. Ah, Potter, you're awake, good. I need you in the common room too, then go to the Headmaster's office"

"What happened Professor?" asked Harry, wondering if it had something to do with the previous evening events – but then, why involve Ron?

"The Headmaster will explain. Downstairs, now"

Harry hastily dressed in the fresh clothes he had prepared and grabbed his pre-packed bag, before rushing down the stairs.

"How do you feel Mr Potter?"

He shrugged.

"Ungodly-hour woken-up, but otherwise fine, thank you. What happened?"

"Arthur Weasley was attacked last night. He's badly injured, in a critical state, at St Mungo's"

Before he could react in any way, Ginny came down the Girl's stairs, bleary eyed, and McGonagall dragged them towards the Headmaster's office. Harry followed them, albeit questioningly, wondering what the rationale for his presence in the group was.

"Ah, Miss Weasley, Messers Weasley, Harry…"

Harry scowled slightly, and barely refrained from scolding Dumbledore. _I do have a last name, too…_

"As you have been told, your father is in St Mungo's in a worrisome state after an attack last night, while on Order duty in the Ministry building. What we didn't tell you yet is that he was attacked by Voldemort himself."

Harry noticed the querying stare of the Headmaster as he was speaking.

"I take from your surprise that you did not get any warning from your scar, Harry?"

"I didn't, Headmaster. It's fully shut down, now"

"How come you closed it?" asked Ron angrily.

"I worked hard" replied Harry dismissively.

"But…dad might die! You selfish bastard!"

Harry recoiled in shock and lack of understanding.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You've been complaining for months, 'oh, my Scar hurts', 'oh, I've got a headache from my Scar', 'Oh, I'm sooooo a poor bloke' and now that it could become a tad useful you just shut it down? You're nothing but an attention seeking son of…"

The remainder of the sentence, although easy to guess, was lost along with McGonagall's temper as she silenced Ron and was ready to assault him vebally, but Dumbledore cut in.

"Come on, Mr Weasley, don't let your worry get the better of you. I know for sure you don't mean…"

Harry snorted.

"By the way, Headmaster, what's the point of my presence here? Not that I don't care about Mr Weasley's health, but I can't see how I can be of any help."

"I'm quite certain the Weasleys will appreciate your support. You are all to move to Headquarters immediately"

"Is there a need for me to be there now? I mean, there's still a day of class and if I leave, it will draw unwanted attention, and Professor Umbridge is nosy enough we shouldn't give her any more fuel, should we?"

"Mr Potter makes a valid point, Albus. Whatever his ties with the Weasleys, he should ride back using the Express. Bending the rules once again is superfluous"

Harry nodded his agreement to McGonagall whole smiled back.

"Nonsense" said Dumbledore, rummaging in a cupboard to fetch an old kettle which he turned into a Portkey, then started arguing with a portrait; Harry soon recognized the former Headmaster to be Phineas Black, and before giving into Dumbledore, the portrait made eye contact with Harry and exchanged an exasperated stare before disappearing.

There was a flash of flame in the very middle of the office, leaving behind a single golden

feather which floated gently to the floor.

"It is Fawkes's warning," said Dumbledore, catching the feather as it fell. "Professor Umbridge must know you're out of your beds… Minerva, go and head her off, tell her any story"

Phineas Black was soon back and forwarded the 'all clear' from Sirius; the Portkey was activated and they landed in Grimmauld Place, welcomed by the outraged – and slightly overacted, in Harry's opinion – cries from Lady Black.

-x-

Remus had been in cell for two days. Sophie – it could not be Hermione, he had noticed that both personalities seemed to overlap at times – had pumped quite a lot of intelligence on the Order from him, most of the time watching the two men in black drill him mercilessly Even the Werewolf had his limits, and the CIA's muggle techniques of manipulation were dramatically powerful. He was himself surprised by the amount of things he knew and the ease with which he spilled them, often against his better judgement.

Then, he had been left alone for hours. Free to pace the cell, properly fed, having access to a shower. Suddenly, the door opened, two men in black took guard on each side and Sophie Granger strolled in. She had changed clothes, an elegant red dress cut above the knee, high heels, a black jacket and some make-up. She removed her jacket and neatly set it on a chair. It revealed the gun in its hip holster and it was unnerving. He was cut in his musings by two other man entering the room; one was from the seemingly unlimited crowd of men in black while the other was wearing a daring grey suit.

Hermione Wilkins gestured him to sit on his side of a table while she did the same facing him, the man in grey taking the chair on her left. She opened a folder on the table and slid it in front of the man.

"Mr Lupin, this is Director Pileggi. His department – mine, by the way – is in charge of the Riddle Case."

Pileggi nodded grumpily, pretending to study the file.

"We would like to thank you for your cooperation in this case. The information you gave us is consistent with intelligence we had previously collected and the whole might be very useful in our own efforts to make Earth a better place without Riddle on it."

Remus nodded his agreement.

"Now, we have just an issue; we can't send you back to Dumbledore. We could obliviate you but Grandpa Whiskers or his favourite greasy minion would notice it quickly, and it would raise questions."

She drummed her fingers on the table.

"The most efficient way to handle the issue would be killing you on the spot. Now. It would spare a bunch of tax money we could put to better use."

He gulped, and did not even notice the slightly raised eyebrow on Pileggi's face. He was startled when the Director spoke for the first time.

"Ever heard of the Witness Protection Program, Mr Lupin?"

-x-

Dumbledore was leaning in the green and silver armchair in the newly cleaned sitting room. Kreacher laid a silver plate with a tea set on the low table, gave a brief bow and left. Dumbledore considered the change in the elf's behaviour during the past month. The best description was professional. Yes, the elf was acting like a proper house-elf in a civilized house. Most curious indeed.

He took a cup of tea – the ordinary set, not the honourable guest ones, he observed – and sipped it tentatively. A nice blend, perfectly brewed. He was nodding appreciatively when Severus Snape came in, slightly limping, and sat in the closest couch with a wince.

"Take a cup of tea, Severus, you seem to be in dire need of one. I take from your body language that He was most displeased and vented his anger on his people…"

Snape nodded.

"The Snake is badly injured. The Dark Lord himself seems to be somewhat weakened by the fight. Who was there, Albus?"

"I must admit I'm almost clueless. It looks like a team of Unspeakables were conducting an experiment not far from the Place and were attracted by the commotion. Well, it's a good thing since Arthur would have definitely been killed on the spot without their interference."

"It will slow the Dark Lord down for a while"

"Good. On the other hand, I'm concerned by Harry. I was expecting that, in such an event, he'd experience another strong vision from Tom. But, he did not. He was seemingly concerned by Arthur Weasley's health, but otherwise rather indifferent to his friends' distress"

"Albus, the brat is now annoyingly proficient in Occlumency. He really worked hard this term and it paid off. I can't get a glimpse of the thoughts he was broadcasting at full power last year."

"Neither can I. All I can get is a glimpse of a deserted tropical island; it must be the mindscape he has set. It is most impressive. But it's worrisome."

"Worrisome? Because you can no longer read him like an open book?"

"His lack of compassion towards the youngest Weasleys is indeed bothering me."

"Well, he is civil to the girl, who is an adequate human being besides a bright student. Distancing from the bullies and the food pit is just a manifestation of common sense"

"But why the sudden change, in a span of the few months? I'm afraid he might be heading on a regrettable path and…"

"I find your lack of faith in Lily's son annoying, Albus" cut Snape.

Harry chose this time to come in, raising an amused eyebrow towards his potions teacher.

"Professor Dumbledore, sir. Professor Snape" he said in his best mannered student style. He dashed across the room to a bookshelf in a corner where he quickly skimmed over the titles, before picking a book with a triumphant "Ah!"

He walked back towards the door, waving the book.

"Kreacher moved all the books on wizarding fine arts to this room. Had to corner him after half an hour lost in the library for naught"

He closed the door with a polite nod towards the teachers, and scurried away towards the library.

"This is not the book Master Harry was looking for" said Kreacher.

Harry watched the Elf, puzzled, then shook his head.

"No, but it is nonetheless interesting; after all, I don't know anything on wizarding paintings and such. Thank you for the hint, Kreacher, they were actually talking about me. I'm not sure that many more interesting things will be said, but since Dumbledore seems to be smitten with this room, the recording device I left might be useful on the long run. Oh, and you did a bang-up job in that room, Kreacher, it's wonderful."

-x-

"I can't do that! I will not do that! I will not abandon the fight, my friends…"

"Listen, Mr Lupin" said Pileggi. "I'm prone to understand your motives, but we have our own agenda, and our own silver bullet; that's Agent Wilkins. We know how Riddle's spirit survived and later came back to corporeal form, and the steps to get rid of him. But we also know things regarding Harry Potter that Dumbledore doesn't. And we do not agree with his long-term plan. Harry Potter will not be sacrificed on the altar of the Greater Good. This is a one-time offer. You are a scholar, Mr Lupin, and there's a team in California working on improving wolfsbane than could use your services, and not only as a test dummy. It's your choice."

"Remus" whispered Hermione soothingly "I just want you to know that if I must step over the cold dead body of Dumbledore for Harry, I will. But you and I have the same goals on the long term. I know you are a good man. Please trust us. Accept the offer, I don't want to obliviate you."

"I don't want to leave the fight…"

"I don't want to stroll around carrying a .40 and issuing death threats, Remus. We all have to accept choices that are not really ours. Please."

"I don't really have any choice, do I?" eventually said Lupin in a hoarse whisper.

"Glad we have an understanding Mr Lupin" said Pileggi.

Hermione pulled a magazine from her jacket, and ejected a couple bullets with her thumb.

Remus frowned and shivered slightly to the way they reflected the neon light of the room.

"Greyback is already dead. He just doesn't know, yet."

Remus watched the ammunition and nodded silently. Silver bullet, indeed.

-x-

The morning was crisp, and she was at last outside. She had stayed in the basement of the embassy until Pileggi and McKeenan had portkeyed Remus Lupin away, to Ramstein airbase, in Germany, where a plane was waiting for them. She dug her hands deep into the pockets of her leather jacket and walked towards the Seine, not really paying attention to the scenery – Place de la Concorde, Champs Elysées...A car hooting insistently eventually caught her attention.

"Mamie!"

"Ah, tout de même. Sam m'a dit que tu avais fini!"

She jumped in the passenger seat of the tiny Lotus.

"C'est gentil d'être venue me chercher"

Hermione's grandmother circled the Place de la Concorde before making it right on the largest avenue.

"Where are we going?" asked Hermione, as they were driving up the Champs Elysées at a leisurely pace.

"Nowhere. Just wandering around, so you'll be able to tell you've rode through Paris in a sports car, dear."

* * *

AN

Ohh…a Time Turner! Yes, she has to use one, don't you remember McNamara's explanations at the end of chapter 10? Then, you must jump to the end of chapter 10 to fix your memory. Just as I fixed the chapter: there was something wobbly with the time alteration stuff, if you really think on it – some reviewer did find it weird at some point. The 24x factor would have fit 24 days in 24h, so she'd have portkeyed back to Moab the next day. Thus, she has to use a time-turner to be at school for breakfast without missing a day. Mhh, I wonder if this note is not adding confusion to imprecision…never mind.

Now we've reached the end of the chapter, did anyone catch the reference to Oracle's boss? No? Great, that was the private joke of doom.

Note to the youngest readers: there was a time when you could board a plane with unidentified liquids; nowadays, Hermione and al would need to be creative to sneak dreamless sleep potion through the screening…

And well, did any of you land in Paris CDG Airport in the morning? Okay, all those international airports – I visited a few – are dull(es – ahah. Sorry.), but the CdG tops them all, and the northern suburbs of Paris are gloomy like hell.


	13. A CIA Agent in Paris

_**Hello faithful readers (and you have to be faithful to click on the link in the ff net update email, since the last update is almost six months old…)! Yes, I'm perfectly aware I'm out of schedule, because real life and such, and you know what? This is perfectly normal, since this is a definitely unofficial spinoff of the Harry Potter Universe rightfully owned by J. and al., written for fun (mine and hopefully yours), without any copyright infringement intended.**_

**Chapter 13 – A CIA Agent in Paris, and elsewhere, by the way.**

Harry Potter was daydreaming, for lack of better options. Sitting cross-legged on an oversized armchair in Sirius Black's bedroom, listening to his Godfather droning on the good old times of the Marauders, he was nodding and chuckling from time to time, pretending to enjoy the tales. As a matter of fact, he was not _really_ interested by the recollection of his father and friend's time as pranksters, painfully aware of the shortness of the path from pranking to bullying. His mother had been rather harsh on the Marauders, and if they had never really delved into crime like the Twins, Sirius, Wormtail and his father had been nasty buggers from time to time, and she had spent quite a lot of energy keeping them in line. He had gone to considerable lengths trying to come to terms with his lack of intervention 'that' night, when he had witnessed the Twins at their worst. They had raped that girl and he hadn'traised a finger. He had put his own safety – his own comfort? – first, and ignored what was right. He could have stunned them.

Heck, he could have bound them and let them starve to death down the Chamber of Secrets.

But no, they were strolling around Grimmauld Place, showing less interest in their father's health than in the dangerous stuff they could find in the place and its use in their growing business.

Harry's thoughts were also wandering towards the girl. How was she coping? How could he help her? He decided to try and find an excuse to approach her, maybe some others in an offer of friendship. After all, his new dedication to studying was beginning to have an effect on his scores and besides Neville, few dared coming to him for help. Yes, he could make himself more available. Even Umbridge could not take offense of a studying group. And maybe, he could foresee other situations and defuse them. Yes, that was a good idea.

Satisfied with this progress, and considering he had let his Godfather waste his time for long enough, he chose an appropriate pause in the never-ending recollection to jump on his feet and stretch.

"Geez, thanks for all these stories, Sirius. But as much as I love them, there are a couple essays that won't write themselves, will they?"

"Spoilsport. How will I ever be able to face your father if you keep those studying habits?"

Harry shrugged. "Well, you'll hide behind Mum"

Without letting Sirius think one of his lame comebacks, Harry left the room, walked to his own to pick his schoolbag and headed downstairs to the library, checking his homework planner on the way.

-x-

Hermione and her parents were enjoying a visit of the Orsay museum. Formerly a train station, left rotting on the banks of the Seine for decades, the building had been converted into a museum focused on the nineteenth century fine arts ten years ago and was now a fantastic place, stuffed to the rafters with some of the most famous paintings in the world, from Van Gogh to Cézanne, Manet to Lautrec, sculptures, furniture and pieces from the early times of photography. The building itself was a masterpiece and one could lose himself in the contemplation from one of the upper galleries. At some point, Hermione's mother noticed she had been staring for minutes at the same canvas and came close. It was a landscape of a forest at dawn.

"Who's it from?"

"Hmm…? Diaz de la Peña" replied Hermione, her head slightly cocked to watch the image.

"Oh. Who's that?"

"A colourist, a bit theatrical but some among the impressionists found him inspiring. Nothing fascinating, as a matter of fact, it's some place in the Fontainebleau forest. I just wonder if after examining the picture, I could apparate to the place."

"Oh."

Hermione looked around, and noticed the sign.

"Wait a minute" she said, heading to the rest room. She entered the stall for disabled, closed her eyes to focus on the image and vanished. She felt a sandy ground under her feet, the cold damp air of the forest. Large trees and grey sandstone, close enough to Font', but she could be in many forests around Paris. She walked a bit towards an alley, but they were few hints of her location. She pondered her choices: apparating back to the museum at once or spending more time checking the result of the experiment.

_Curiosity killed the cat_? She thought. _Of course_. A few seconds later, a big cat was running in the forest, until a crossing where the alleys were signalled. She reverted to human form, wrote down a couple of names and apparated back to the toilet.

"So?"

"I'll have to check on a map of the forest. It might have worked"

Back to their suite a couple hours later, Hermione found a voice message for the CIA attaché in Paris. She apparated straight to the embassy and made her way through the maze of hallways and stairs to his office.

"Ah, Wilkins, thanks for coming. There's a sick leave in the protection team. I'd appreciate if you could make you available on Christmas Eve, the Undersecretary will be on representation at the French Ministry of Magic. Yule ball and all, and there will be quite the whole bunch of those backstabbing French plotters so I'd like a good coverage. You'll team with McKeenan and Doherty."

-x-

The US delegation was greeted at the top of stairs by a rather short wizard, rather nervous, speaking in a barely acceptable English stuffed with misplaced American idioms. Hermione caught a glimpse of an expensive muggle watch at his wrist, nodding to the six Hit Wizards surrounding him. So this douche was Minister Bosquat. Great.

She had been briefed with the facebook of the expected audience and she quickly identified the key attendees. Many were Dark Lord Compatible. They wouldn't openly support a rising Dark Lord, until he came in power, but their agenda was fully compatible. At some point, she noticed a quite familiar silhouette, blond hair, aristocratic features. The likeness was striking, and only a closer inspection allowed her to recognize in the Malfoy double a distant cousin.

The man noticed the Undersecretary, nodded to Hermione and introduced himself as Alexandre Malefoi. His file popped in Hermione's mind. Mafeloi were relatives to the British Malfoys, in fact the oldest line of the family, and had a reputation of being smarter in his advocating of tradition than his cousin. At least, he was better in covering his tracks. She stepped aside, nodding to Malefoi's bodyguard, and found herself close to one of the Hit Wizards in charge of the French Minister's safety.

"First time in the open?" asked the man.

"Yes, I'm filling in for a sick leave. Wilkins, CIA"

"El Djelloul, SPPM, nice to meet you"

"El Djelloul? Sounds familiar. You wouldn't be related to Chirine El Jelloul, who teaches in Moab, would you?"

He smiled. "My Aunt"

"It's a small world, isn't it? How come they let Arabs protect the Minister? I thought he was pretty…conservative."

The Hit Wizard snorted.

"I'm one of the shorter ones available. The guy has a complex with his height, he can't stand having bodyguards hovering around. And since he needs six of us, he has to lower some expectations."

"Paranoid much?"

The French made a noncommittal sound, and after a pause, spoke in a lower voice "there are stories…"

"About the Britsand their Dark Lord? Bosquat…"

"Bosquat est un petit con. A big mouthed coward. No spine, little brains, save for bragging. The French loved him, but he's reached his level of incompetence. If the British Dark Lord is truly back, the French ministry will be useless."

"Great."

"There will be support for a resistance in France, from people, but not from this Ministry."

Hermione did not answer, watching a group moving towards the ambassador, trying to assess if they were a threat. They did not linger and moved away.

"Is it true?" asked El Djelloul. "That Voldemort is back?"

Hermione made eye contact.

"Yes" she said. "Yes, he's back."

-x-

Christmas at Grimmauld was boisterous as usual, like any event in which the Weasley family was involved. Moreover, Arthur Weasley had been released from St Mungo's, a release somewhat delayed by an unfortunate experiment by a novice healer, who was not so skilled using muggle stitches as he claimed.

Trapped between the Weasley enthusiasm and Sirius' attempts to have fun, wary of the Twins ruthlessness and feeling threatened by any of their schemes, Harry was basically killing time. Things almost went downhill when after piling food on the kitchen table, Molly Weasley observed that it was nice to be gathered for a genuine Wizarding Christmas.

"I don't really see the change" observed Harry. "There's a week's worth of food for everyone, as usual", he added, forcing his smile.

"Precisely" replied Mrs Weasley, "and no one is there to make dietary remarks on too much grease and too much sugar and all that nonsense!"

Harry cocked his head questioningly. He had a bad feeling on where was heading the Weasley Matriarch's speech.

"I mean, I know Hermione was your friend, but well, I for one don't miss her too much. Those Muggleborns do have a hard time fitting in."

"I for one still have a hard time fitting in." replied Harry, "since day to day behaviour is shaped by so many conditioned attitudes described nowhere but in etiquette treatises hidden at the bottom of pureblood libraries. This knowledge is a given for you, mostly from oral tradition, but nobody makes any effort to make it available to the Muggleborns. They just have to fit in by magic or leave. And they do. If you look at the statistics, almost seventy percent of British or French muggleborns either return to the muggle world or leave for America, Australia or some Asiancountries…I am the heir of an Ancient and Noble House but barely knowledgeable, and only thanks to Kreacher who pointed me to the proper sources of information…"

A heavy silence felt on the table. Harry shrugged refusing with a polite gesture the gravy Mrs Weasley was about to drop on his plate, and picked a huge serving of the few vegetables on the table with his roast.

-x-

Christmas had been both a terrific and a terrible day. Terrific because Hermione hadn't been able to spend it with her grandmother for a few years, so having the family reunited was thrilling, and terrible because her grandmother had left free reign to her French habits and the feast was beyond all reason for anyone not named Ron Weasley. So on Boxing Day, the eastern horizon was just paling when she apparated to Fontainebleau Forest, planning to burn all the extra fat and sugar. But apparating from a well heated palace room to a freezing countryside was not a pleasant experience, and she took her Puma form to take advantage of her fur. This was a pleasant experience, not only from a thermal comfort point of view, but because as an animal, she saw the forest in a new perspective. All the tiny life that seemed to have vanished during autumn was there, under the crispy leaves, carefully seeking extra food, strengthening their shelters, and later in the day, grabbing some extra heat from the pale sun.

Of course, the human scents were stronger, and an hour into her run, she stopped in her tracks, catching an odor she knew, from a sandy clearing: there, a thin layer of snow was disturbed by footprints, a track going in a single direction, starting from nowhere. Someone had apparated there. And she knew this scent. She followed the tracks on a short distance, to a cottage of sorts. A two story house, not very large, one of those castles at a reduced scale, used to house Parisian aristocrats during hunting parties. A Pavillon de Chasse. Cosy enough.

Closing her eyes, she focused on the scent. The scents, because there were three different people around. She could feel three of them. No, four, but the third one felt slightly immature, a child or a young teen. But one was very fresh in her memory.

_Malefoi? Le monde est petit…_

She jumped from boulder to boulder, and then climbed on a pine tree to reach the windowsill of a bull's eye, on the side of the building. If not a puma, she would have smiled, but puma do have some sense of decorum, and as pure predators, they don't smile. She had a perfect view of the main room. Two people were actually sitting around a low table, with many papers spread on it. A third wizard, allegedly a disposable Death Eater, was standing close to the door. A teenage one seemed to be sulking on an armchair. Facing her was Alexandre Malefoi. And if she could not see the face of the second one, the long blonde hair and the cane with a snake-shaped knob was easy to identify. _Lucius Malfoy…The cousins are not so distant, after all_. The window was slightly ajar and she could hear the conversation. She understood that Voldemort had established his headquarters at Malfoy Manor, and that he was obsessed with accessing key information. _The Prophecy? It sounds like they are trying to get the whole prophecy_. While both elders were silently reading some documents, she observed the teenager. It was of course Draco Malfoy, definitely sulking, with a cane similar to his father. But as he stood up to pace in front of the fireplace, it appeared that it was not ornamental. His limp was worse that Mad-eye's.

Yeah, puma don't smile. Not for lack of trying.

-x-

The British Prime Minister was trying not to act as an obedient vassal of those kids. Moreover, of this dandy who seemed to prefer lewd games with interns than world domination, a given for those arrogant Yanks. But the invitation to this meeting in Camp David was a bloody order, and he was not pleased. And the serious face of the American President was not foreboding. There were the usual formalities and then, once the Prime Minister sat at the meeting table, a slight trace of Arkansas accent showed that the President was somewhat pissed off.

"What the fuck's happening with those wizards of yours, John?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"You've got yet another of those Dark Lords wreaking havoc – well, according to our intelligence, it looks like it's a backup copy of the previous one – and so far, your Ministry for Magic is doing…just nothing. Any insight?"

The Prime Minister sighted sadly.

"There are rumours…but the intelligence is hard to collect. And I never know when I'm not watched. I have a tiny unit in MI6, a handful of muggleborn wizards."

The US President slid a file in front of the PM. He opened it and flipped through for a few minutes before asking.

"I guess you have some sort of plan?"

"It's not really a plan, so far." replied the President, sliding another file in front of his counterpart.

At the first glance, the Prime Minister looked unbelievingly:

"Are you kidding? All you have to offer is a sixteen year old agent?"

The President shrugged dismissively "The last time, your saviour was sixteen months old, it's quite an improvement, isn't it?" he replied with a chuckle, before adding "Seriously, John, she's actually twenty something, due to time spent in some alternate plane shit, don't ask me. The so-called good guys tried to pull her out of the game, likely because she was interfering with some scheme of theirs byhaving sex with the Chosen One, who doesn't even smoke cigars. According to Secretary Garneros, she's awfully brilliant, some had nicknamed her The Brightest Witch of Age, see? But she's got lasting effects of memory charms, something like that, don't ask me. She's borderline psycho, definitely in love with the Golden Boy."

"So there's definitely something with this Harry Potter fellow" whispered the Prime Minister.

"I guess there is. According to the facts we gathered, _before_ involving the Granger Girl, he's not only defeated the Dark Lord once as a toddler, but fought him three times in the past four years, destroying one of his anchors in the process. So yes, it looks like there's something like a pattern, like he's the key to clean up this mess once for all. Your guys seem to think that the old fatherly figure has some long-distance plans that need the boy in complete submission, sort of. Their guess is he's conditioning him to sacrificing himself for the Greater Good, and the growing attachment to the girl was a…distraction"

The Prime Minister looked through the window, on the perfect lawns, the smooth hills covered by woods, the teenage girl playing with a cat in front of the building.

"Sometimes I feel like a fire hydrant looking at a pack of dogs."(2) He whispered.

The President raised an eyebrow.

"I see your point. Mushroom therapy. You must do something, they can't keep messing around with the non magicals forever."

"So true. But I don't have any authority over the Magicals. I must raise the issue with the Queen. Where is the girl?"

"On holiday in France, her grandmother lives here. Well, she fills the spaces in our ranks when needed."

"Good. I'll be in Paris next week. Who's her manager?"

"Pileggi" replied the President, sliding a business card in front of the Prime Minister.

"Thanks"

"Anytime. We're on the same ship here." And after stretching, he added: "Fancy Lunch? There should be Chicken Enchiladas!"

-x-

It was cold, and the forest floor was covered by a thin layer of snow. Hermione nodded to Doherty and McKeenan, who were slowly taking position around the Pavillon. She climbed on a boulder, used a pine tree to reach another one and jumped from boulder to boulder in order to be as close as possible to the building without leaving any footprint. There were voices inside, speaking English. Three – four voices. One was clearly younger and somewhat familiar. One was almost silent, speaking barely above the growl what sounded like approval. One was also familiar and had a slight French accent – Malefoi. And the last one was haughty, and even if she had heard it only a couple times, she also recognized it.

She signalled to the others, and walked silently to the front door, wand in hand. The door was not even warded, and she merely pushed it open and stepped inside, firing an overpowered disarming hex. Six wands clattered on the floor behind her.

"Qu'est-ce que?"

"Nobody ever expects the Spanish Inquisition" she yelled, firing two stunners at Malefoi and the unknown stranger, binding them for good measure.

"Sorry to interrupt this family reunion, I'm special agent Sophie Wilkins and you're under arrest for…oh, silly me. No formals. We are almost friends, aren't we?" She raised her left sleeve close to her mouth and whispered "secure" in the comlink.

A few seconds later, Doherty came in, he tossed a portkey onto Malefoi and she nodded:

"Malfoy senior. At least Riddle's financial backer."

Doherty nodded and was about to toss a Portkey ontoLucius Malfoy when Hermione stopped him.

She walked in front of the last standing wizard, who walked back unsteadily, hampered by his limping.

"Does that knee hurt, _Draco_?" she asked in a sweet voice.

Draco Malfoy froze, as if seeing her for the first time.

"Granger?"

"The name's Wilkins, _Sophie_ Wilkins. United States Central Intelligence Agency, Magical Affairs Division."

"No. No, you're Hermione Granger. Dumbledore said you died in a freak accident. It was in the Prophet."

"Oh, but there are so many unverified pieces of information in the Prophet. Like, the Malfoy family head imperiused by the Dark Lord Followers to take the Dark Mark. I mean, I could check if dear Lucius is so weak as to obey a morally unacceptable order. What If I imperiused you to kill your son, Lucius?"

She flicked her wand casually in front of the older Malfoy.

"Or do you think a _mudblood_ has such a weak magic that it can't be done? I mean, some remember when you said last year that in Durmstrang, they teach the Dark Arts. Did you teach your son the Unforgivables, Lucius? How does he do with them? Well, at least, his tragic injury should not interfere with his casting."

"What do you want, you worthless scum?"

"Ah, the good old Malfoy patriarch is back, I'm feeling better." she said with and Umbridge class sweet smile. "Why, we want information, Malfoy. Knowledge is power, all that jazz. Now, I'm perfectly aware you are loyal enough to your Master to retain it. Of course, I could Crucio you and your son for a while and I'm pretty sure you might end spilling something. But, that would be crossing a line, something frowned upon by the Agency Policy. Well, at least once you'll be officially in our custody, like your cousin is."

"You don't…"

"I don't what?" cut Hermione. "If you have some functional brain cells, you know very well I'm full of good reasons to not adhere to Dumbledore's Order's so called ethics. I've lost too much to afford such a luxury."

"You were McGonagall's pet, Granger" said Draco, seemingly out of his initial shock. "You're too much of a goody-two-shoes to act after your boasting, you stupid Gryffindor."

Hermione nodded sadly. She pointed her wand towards the Disposable Death Eater bound in the corner of the room.

"Avada Kedavra!"

A Flash of green, and this feeling of an inexistent wind blowing something away.

"I" she stated, "for one, am on par with my Unforgivables, Malfoy".

"You are crazy!"

"Draco! Control yourself." scolded the father, while the son was on the verge of hysterics.

Hermione smiled. "Are you complimenting me, Draco dear? To you, I will confess my secret ambition: I plan to be the light side counterpart to Bellatrix Lestrange, yoursweet auntie. Oh, yes, you barely know her, she's been vacationing in Azkaban for most of your life…" she said, drawing imaginary quotes around _light side_ with her fingers. A flick of her wand and Draco's trousers vanished. She observed the scars around his knee.

"You know that this wound looks like it was made by a bullet?" she looked at Lucius Malfoy. "I suppose you're not aware that my father is a former sniper in Her Majesty's Special Forces? Shooting people where it hurts most to incapacitate them was a great part of his job. Or killing them."

As realization was downing on the elder Malfoy's face, she pulled her handgun from its holster.

"I wonder if I could chop your manly bits off with a single bullet without killing you, Draco?" she asked, looking at his father in the eye. "Sounds fun."

She paused, before adding.

"Unless your father has some interesting tales to tell to distract me…"

"You really think I'm going to fall for this old trick, you pathetic bint?"

Hermione stopped to look at Lucius Malfoy in the eye.

"Oooh…" she cooed "That's a big manly retort, Lucius dear". She pointed her wand towards the youngest Malfoy. "Care to elaborate?"

"Go to hell!"

"Been there, done that." she stated, and without a pause, without a glance: "Crucio!"

She just held the spell on Draco Malfoy for a couple seconds, enough for a liquid pool to spread under his shaking body.

"Geez, did your son just piss and shit himself? Honestly, Lucius, I thought you'd better trained him. I mean, even a Half-bloodlike Potter handled Voldemort's Cruciatus better than that. I'm deeply disappointed…"

She walked back a couple steps, considering the show. "I guess I could refresh my Imperius by making him clean up his mess bare-handed?" She tapped her wand on her chin, pensively. "No. To weak, not worth it." She nodded to Doherty who quickly made Draco Malfoy presentable before portkeying him away.

"Now, before I leave you in the very capable hands of Central Intelligence Travel for an all inclusive stay on the Alcatraz Resort, Is there any bargainingmaterial you'd like to use, Lucius Dear? Because once in the Agency's holding cell, you will be stripped naked, body and soul. Whatever your Occlumency skills, you won't hold long in front of a dozen Legilimens and all those fancy drugs they like to use. This is your last chance to be cooperative and maybe, save something. So?"

-x-

Harry barely noticed the noise of someone sitting on one of the library chairs not far from him. He stayed focused on his book, yet another treaty on social interactions between magical families, while trying to open his perception to try and guess who dared to come into his retreat. But before he could sense the magic in the being, a flowery scent betrayed the intruder.

"Hi Ginny."

"Hey Harry. Mind if I hide with you? There isn't a peaceful place in this godforsaken madhouse"

He looked at her: she had settled herself as far as possible from him on the long table, and already pulled out of her schoolbag two transfiguration books and sheets of parchment.

"Yeah, of course."

He managed to reach the end of the chapter, taking a few more notes, but ended up staring blankly at the text. It was boring beyond all reason, dealing with etiquette in formal events. He removed his glasses, rubbed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, put his glasses back, stretched and exhaled deeply. There was only the cracking of the fire and the scratching of Ginny's quill on the parchment. He observed her. He noticed she was becoming attractive; she packed a punch magically, was rather smart, witty and he knew she was one of the best students in her year. He wondered how she would react if she knew what her brothers were capable of. Focusing a bit more, he used his Legilimency to catch a glimpse of her surface thoughts. There were saturated by transfiguration, proving that she was definitely in this room to work on her essay, without afterthoughts. He caught glimpses of her background thoughts, finding determination, the need to prove herself behind her status of first female Weasley in generations. He found that she was willing to build her life according to her own standards, far from Percy's pushiness, farther from Ron's settlement in mediocrity and the twin's ruthless greed. Pushing a bit more, a rather difficult thing without making eye contact, he gathered random thoughts, a little self awareness of her modest breast size, a bit of loneliness related to Hermione that surprised him – he thought that she was popular enough to have some other friends among the Gryffindor girls, but it was apparently a mistake. He also caught a fuzzy sexual attraction towards himself, a bit of nostalgia of her old childhood crush, and pulled out before becoming really intrusive, for he was too close to her libido for his liking.

Ginny was actually a nice girl who could use a friend, invading her privacy was no longer needed. Nor acceptable.

-x-

Hermione stretched, making some joints crack in the process. Doherty had just portkeyed Lucius Malfoy away and was looking at her approvingly.

"We didn'twaste our time, did we?"

"No we didn't mate" she replied. She looked at the disposable Death Eater still sprawled in a corner. "I had forgotten him".

"I love that trick of yours"

"Yeah, I'm rather proud of that spell, I must confess. _Enervate_!"

The Death Eater moaned.

"Masquerading a stunner as a Killing Curse is a brilliant piece of spell crafting, Sophie."

-x-

Narcissa Malfoy rose from the fireplace. She could hear Bellatrix' footsteps coming closer and she composed a neutral face, an act that cost her more than usual, since she was beginning to worry. She wasn'treally worrying about her husband, but more about the consequences of him being missing. She hadn't got word from him since Christmas, and the floo call at Alexandre's home had been fruitless. Both men and her idiot of a son had seemingly disappeared. And that might put her in an uncomfortable situation, and her crazy bint of a sister was useless. She refrained from running to her own study. She had contingency plans to put into action.

She'd been told that summertime was very enjoyable in Argentina. And coincidentally, it was summertime in Argentina.

-x-

Lucius Malfoy didn'tmove from his chair when she entered the interrogation room. He just looked at her with a defeated stare. It seemed to Hermione that all the horrors of two decades of war had caught up with him.

"Don't want to know what you _told_ him, kiddo, but you did wrap him up neatly. Good job. He spilled his guts almost faster than the dictaquills could catch it"

"Is that praise, McNamara?" asked Pileggi, walking behind Hermione.

She merely shrugged.

"So what's next?" asked Hermione "Nuke strike on Malfoy Manor?"

Pileggi shrugged, adding a 'so-so' gesture.

-x-

Life at Grimmauld place settled in a routine until the New Year's celebration. Harry spent most of his days in the library, often with Ginny's company. He wondered if Ginny was trying another approach before making a move on him, a clearly wiser choice than the elbow-in-the-butter-dish stance. That led him to consider how he would politely turn her down.

But it seemed that Ginny harbouredno evil plan of sorts. She was steadily working, reading ahead in the core subjects, enjoying idle chat from time to time when Kreacher would bring some tea, and Harry began to relax. It was nice having friendly company, for once.

All was well.

"You seem rather content, Harry." said Ginny, startling him from his musings.

He smiled.

"Yes, things are not as bad as they seem."

"Thanks for letting me work here. My family drive nuts." She paused, watching him, then frowned, and cocked her head.

"What? Do I have antlers sprouting out of my head?" he joked.

She stood up, coming close, and observed his forehead.

"Your scar…"

"What's with it?" he asked defensively.

"It looks like…faded. It was red and rather spectacular last summer, and now it's pale. Just looking like any of the cuts on my knees…does it still hurt you?"

He shook his head.

"No, it's been…quiet. For a few weeks…"

"Do you think Voldemort…"

He shrugged.

-x-

Hermione closed her eyes and breathed deeply. An outsider might have thought it was just a case of aircraft phobia, but as the little jet was following the steep slope **(flight-path)** towards London City Airport's runway, her self confidence was under pressure.

Her legs were weak when she stepped on the tarmac. She climbed in a van with Doherty and Pileggi, who sent her a reassuring smile. She breathed deeply one more time before facing Her Majesty's Customs Officer. He glanced at her passport and the CIA badge, smiled and nodded. "Have a nice stay in United Kingdom, Madam."

"Thank you, Officer."

She walked a few steps in London before climbing into another van. They drove through the docklands in a very light traffic. A few minutes later, they were on a first motorway, heading north on the M11. They reviewed the files for an hour, before settling on a silent contemplation of the landscape. Hermione lost herself in the view of the countryside covered by a thin layer of snow. She was dozing off when the van stopped in the middle of nowhere.

But nowhere was under the heavy protection of armed men.

"Welcome to Chequers."

It was cold. She tightened the coat she was wearing above her suit, and walked quickly towards the main building of the country residence of the Prime Minister. They were quickly screened and led into a meeting room, where an intern led them to three empty seats. Hermione nodded to Algernon Croaker and to the wizard on his left. The Prime Minister entered the room seconds later and introductions were made.

"So that's your prodigy, Mike?" asked the Minister to Pileggi.

"I'd rather say our silver bullet, John."

"But a prodigy she is." said Croaker.

"I'm sitting here, you know?"

The Prime Minister chuckled and the introductions were quickly completed. Three groups were trying to work together to solve the riddle: a group of wizards and squibs from the MI6, Croaker and some Unspeakables from the Department of Mysteries and Pileggi's team from the C.I.A. The leader of the MI6 group made a thorough review of the situation, and Hermione observed carefully the wizard accompanying Croaker. Passive Legilimencywas a lost cause, and his name – Dr Branom – was too outstanding to be honest. He spoke for the first time when, after a thorough recapitulation of the situation, the subject of the Dark Lord's bothersome survival and the means to remove him once for all from the picture was discussed.

"We know, from Miss Wilkins testimony and her formal interview of Potter, that Riddle anchored himself to this plane of existence using Horcruxes. Horcruxes being items enchanted during a ritual with a part of the Wizard's soul. For your sake, Minister" he said, looking at the Prime Minister, "this ritual needed the cold blooded murder of a human being. One cold blooded murder each time."

"Why am I not surprised? Go on."

"All documented uses of Horcruxes report only one, so the soul is split in two. According to one of Riddle's 'mentors', the former Slytherin Head of House and Potions Professor Horace Slughorn, who was not cooperative in producing this testimony, by the way, Riddle planned to split his soul in seven, creating six Horcruxes. One was destroyed by Harry Potter two years ago and to cut the mystery, the last one was Harry Potter himself. The Horcrux was destroyed when Potter was accidentally hit by a Killing Curse a month ago." Dr Branom paused for the effect.

"Wilkins?" asked Croaker.

"Seems legit." replied Hermione. "Harry confirmed he did not experience his connection to Riddle since AK'ed. He also reported getting a better control of his magic, an increase in his casting power and his focusing and working capabilities. This is consistent with a removal of a parasitic presence tied to his magic."

"That makes four left. Any clues?" asked the Plane Minister.

We think that they are likely related to items with a high symbolic value. We located one in the last known residence of his family, in Little Hangleton. It was a ring, identified as an Heirloom of Salazar Slytherin, to whom Riddle's mother is related. We interviewed his followers in Azkaban and one received an object to keep in a safe place. A cup. Unfortunately, the cup is in her Vault in Gringott's and can't be accessed"

"Who is it?" asked Hermione

"Lestrange. Bellatrix Lestrange, née Black. Narcissa Malfoy's sister."

"Wait, Black, as in _Sirius_ Black?"

"First cousin."

"Black, the man who escaped from Azkaban?" asked the Prime Minister.

"Himself."

"Black is Harry Potter's Godfather." said Hermione; "We could approach him. Maybe, as the Head of the Black family, he could do something?"

"We'll think on it. I guess by your suggestion that you have an idea on his whereabouts..." Said Croaker, "Go on, Doctor."

Branom explained what they knew of the other Horcruxes. Not enough. An action plan was nonetheless set.

-x-

"Harry, mate?"

Harry stopped his examination of the contents of the study, mostly ledgers, inventories of all kind, mapsof lands and old photographs he had investigated out of boredom, and looked at the intruders. The twins had came into the study attached to the main sitting room and were making themselves comfortable in front of him.

He raised a questioning eyebrow to acknowledge them. They exchanged stares, without immediately speaking, a suspicious behaviour **(behaviour)**.

"What can I do for you?"

One cleared his throat and spoke:

"Well, we've noticed that you've been spending quite a lot of time with Ginny lately."

"Not that we're complaining."

"We wouldn't dare interfere in her life."

"Neither in yours."

"So what?" snapped Harry. "Are you going to blackmail me into marrying her or what?"

The twins looked at him disbelievingly, then exchanged stares.

"Er, no."

"We'd never…"

"You wound us."

Harry snorted.

"Come on, guys, go to the point, I'm getting bored here."

"Well, since you're as good as family."

"and our main financial backer."

"Our only one, so far."

"We'd like to study business opportunities related to the growth potential of WWW."

"Regardless of your sex life with Ginny."

Harry stayed silent for a while. Many scenarios were playing in his head and there was a common point to most. He felt his anger build up and breathed slowly to calm himself.

"Are you implying that you would allow me." he said, drawing imaginary quotes in the air around 'allow', "to shag your sister as long as I keep funding your company?"

He stood up, leaning on his fists on the desk.

"Holly fuck, didn't anyone ever tell you that you are a pair of sick bastards?"

"But we…"

"Get. Out."

The twins seemed to hold a silent conversation for a few seconds and they drew their wands, but Harry was already rolling away, shaking his own wand out of his holster and firing a volley of silent stunners, as Hermione had taught him, towards them. Unfortunately, the closest twin took the brunt of them, shielding his brother, and Harry felt a spell hit the top of the armchair he had rolled behind. He heard the telltale crack of apparation, immediately echoed by another crack and a cry of pain.

"The room is secured, Master."

Harry rose, wand out, to see Kreacher standing on the desk, looking rather smug, over the whimpering form of one of the twins, bathing in a pool of blood, obviously having Splinched himself.

"Kreatcher saw the evil twins and warded the room against apparition. Does Master have a plan to deal with them? Kreatchercan prepare the cells in the dungeons, and Master can let them rot hanging by the charmed chains that will ensure the slowest and most painful death."

"It's all right, Kreatcher, I have a plan" said Harry with a nod. He focused for a while to build up a consistent alternative of the last minutes of interaction with the twins and pointed his wand.

"Obliviate…"

-x-

Harry was tempted to roll on the floor laughing. For the first time in ages, the Knight Bus was out of order and another trip by foot to King's Cross had been deemed necessary. It had taken twenty minutes for Harry and his escort to reach the muggle-packed railway stationand make their way inconspicuously – or almost, as Weasleys were involved, thought Harry – through the wall between platforms nine and ten. Fred would stay in St Mungo's a couple of more days to fully recover from his Splinching, and George was looking at Harry from time to time with a puzzled expression. Padfoot had joined the trip, because as in September, he was craving for fresh air, and moreover, because on such short notice, one more wand was welcome for group safety. The whole affair was rather funny. Thanks to Kreatcher, who had taken care of his trunk, he had little luggage, just his backpack stuffed with his school robes, a couple books, a few treats and a lead coated box containing an ugly looking locket. They boarded the Express with no time to spare; Padfoot ran for a while along the carriage, and then trotted through the barrier, while the remaining members of the order were following at a distance. He was behaving like the average dog, when he felt something falling on him. Before having time to react, he found himself firmly trapped in a net, grabbed by two huge men and carried into a van, and pushed into a cage. He calmed himself, planning to change back into his human form and apparate away, when he realized that he was not alone. Two eyes were shining in the darkness, two eyes belonging to a rather menacing mountain cat, who was casually drumming his menacing claws on the metallic floor.

_What the fuck was a puma doing__in a London Pound Vehicle?_

**ANs :**

My favourite Beta wondered if I was referring to Monet instead of Manet in the list of painters. A valid question but I'm slightly partial to Edouard Manet whose paintings are as much a breakthrough in modern art (see the "Déjeuner sur l'Herbe" – "The Luncheon on the Grass" – or "Olympia") as Monet's. That's my own humble opinion, of course, I'm just a software engineer in real life.

(1) The French Minister reminds me of someone…

(2) That's a quote, but not from John Major.

(3) I'm a few thousand words into chapter 14. I hope it will be completed faster than this one. One can always hope…


	14. The Rubber Duck Conspiracy is hiring

_**Disclaimer.**_**1**: Harry Potter, associated characters and universe belong to J. K. Rowling and Al. This work belongs to the realm of fanfiction without any intent to make profit.

_**Disclaimer**__**.2**_: No aardvarks were harmed during the (tedious) writing of this chapter. They are still humping somewhere in the world, lucky bastards.

Memory refresh note (could be: previously on SRW): The twins are bad guys (rape younger girls and such, boo), and Kreacher sent one of them to St Mungo's. Padfoot, part of Harry and Weasleys guard to King's Cross, is caught by the pound outside platform nine and three quarters.

**Chapter 14 – The Rubber Duck Conspiracy is hiring.**

_What the fuck is a puma doing in a London Pound Vehicle?_

Sirius tried to growl menacingly, only to feel a sharp pain on his nose and to find himself pinned to the ground by sixty pounds of muscle and quite a few claws ready to pierce his hide and potentially tore him to pieces.

_What the fuck?_ He thought again, fighting a growing panic.

The whole situation was making no sense whatsoever. He stayed unmoving for a couple of minutes, trying to find a plan. Subduing the puma in the van was almost impossible, but the Pound would soon separate them and he would apparate away at the first opportunity.

But as soon as the van stopped in a nondescript warehouse, the doors opened and the puma jumped out and trotted away, tail high, while two men were threatening him with huge muggle shotguns.

_What the fuuuuck?_

The whole situation was definitely spinning out of control, and his fight against panic was a lost cause. A shaking Padfoot had no choice but follow the men towards a set of doors and corridors until pushed into a room. The puma jumped on a table.

"Okay, Black, you can revert by yourself or we will force you. Your choice" said the taller of them.

Sirius considered his options and changed. The man pointed to a chair in a corner with the gun, and he half complied, standing defiantly in front of it. He was more astonished than anything: Death Eaters would not use firearms and vans, and the people were not openly hostile. He had the feeling that he was not really in danger, but he had a hard time understanding the situation.

"Wilkins? Stop fooling around, please, and secure the room."

The puma jumped from the desk and morphed in mid-air to land as a young woman, dressed in leather with a gun strapped to her belt. A twist of her wrist and a wand shot in her hand; she waved it around the room, making Sirius shiver as a ward was setting in place, likely a set of anti-whatever, animagus included. Then, she turned towards him and he felt his heart sink into his chest, falling backwards on the chair as his knees gave out.

"Hello, Padfoot, long time no see…"

"Hermione…?" he whispered.

"Sophie Wilkins, C.I.A." she replied, nodding to the others, "we need to talk".

"Sure there, Wilkins?"

"I'll be safe"

"It's his safety I'm more concerned with."

"He's not a Mal-something, Peter. He's supposed to be one of the good guys, he'll be safe."

Once the last man had exited the room, she sealed the door and straddled a chair at some distance, leaning her chin on her folded arms.

"That was a very foolish thing to do, Padfoot, escorting Harry to Kings Cross in plain sight. The Knight Bus was out of order for a reason, a dark-robed white-masked and skull-tattooed reason. For your information, Nott Sr. and a Death Eater wannabe named Gregory Goyle were shot down in an while attempting to ambush your group at Grimmauld Place, by one of our friends keeping watch in front of Number Twelve. You know, the place where the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix can be found…"

Sirius blanched. "How can you know…the Fidelius…"

"Don't fret, Sirius, the Fidelius is still in place and working well, but Old Dumbledore was a bit careless when he summoned Hermione Granger to his office to deal with her…intrusiveness. The Secret was lying on his desk, and she was one of the first to be aware of the secret. Ironic, hm?"

"Where are we?"

"It doesn't matter. We wanted to talk to you for a while, we just got lucky today. Well, to be honest, we wanted to talk to the Head of the Ancient and Noble House of Black."

Sirius snorted.

"You are the Head of the Ancient and Noble House of Black, aren't you?"

He shrugged, before replying half-heartedly "I am, so?"

"As such, you can petition to gain access to any vault owned by a member of the Black family stripped of his rights, like, someone sentenced to a life-time in Azkaban?"

He looked at her, bewildered, until realization hit. "You need me to access Bellatrix' vault?" he laughed. "Are you mad? Do you believe I'll be able to stroll down Diagon Alley and into Gringotts?"

"Of course not! We plan to relocate you to Switzerland in order to clear your name through the ICW, and then submit the request to Gringotts in Zurich, where you will access the vault and retrieve an item Tom Riddle left in custody of Bellatrix."

Sirius frowned.

"What's the catch?"

"The sooner we deal with Tom Riddle, the sooner your Godson will be free of whatever fate had put on his shoulders so far. That's my own agenda. Free Harry. Lucky me, my job at the Agency is to do whatever I can to get rid of Riddle, you know, because this guy is an Evil Axis by himself. If 'Bad Guy' was trademarked, all the patents would belong to him, and for once, we don't have even indirect responsibility in his rising, so we took the job. Oh, we don't really care for you Brits, but the world is not enough for the snake-faced bastard, we're saving our hides in the long run."

"So you are the third faction? That's you behind all the shit that's been happening for a few months? Like the sudden deaths, the freak accidents?"

Sirius smiled.

"The Rubber Duck Conspiracy?"

Hermione made an undecipherable gesture, but the corner of her mouth rose slightly.

Sirius' laughter exploded.

"If you're part of the Rubber Duck Conspiracy, then I'm in!"

-x-

The train ride to Hogsmeade had been uneventful. With the Weasley duo cut in half, mischief had been kept at a low level. Harry had spent a few peaceful hours with Ginny, Neville and Luna. Malfoy had not made his usual taunting show and it's only once sitting at the dinner table that his absence was noticed by the students. The rumour mill was overexerting itself and soon the tale of multiple disappearances in the House of Malfoy reached Gryffindor table. The tales, in fact: first, Lucius was supposed to have eloped with a former Italian fashion model (1), then another one claimed that Narcissa Malfoy had gone to Spain with a flamenco dancer, and a third announced that both Draco and his father had bought a Harem in middle east and were settling in out there. Ron was making loud or lewd comments on each story, while Harry was trying to look mildly interested. Ginny made a questioning face, and he replied with a shrug.

Ginny was a friend, but not yet to the point that he could tell her that both Malfoys had been shipped far, far away from Britain the night before, and that a Narcissa Black had boarded a Muggle Plane to Argentina. Well, the last piece of information would be in the Prophet tomorrow. A decent bribe to a bitter wizard working in the Muggle Liaison office would be enough to ensure that the information would be made publicly available, something related to psychological warfare. Harry didn't care, for he had more important issues to deal with.

-x-

It all began with a distant noise, getting louder and louder. Then suddenly, all the members of the group instinctively ducked when the two jets flew above their heads, less than a hundred feet above the ground. Even the Dark Lord flinched. He was no stranger to the concept of aircraft, but he was not aware that those blasted Muggles had improved them to fly so fast, making so much noise. He was more surprised when they flew a large loop, slowing down and one of them simply stopped in mid-air, firing on an invisible target in the area, and he found the manoeuvre slightly disturbing: the aircraft where not supposed to hover this way. Then, it began advancing towards their location at the edges of Malfoy Manor's wards. Coming from another direction were two of those helicopters he was less familiar with, and something was amiss. As tempting as it could be, now was not the time to blast those Muggle idiots. He motioned all the Death Eaters but one inside the wards; it was always amusing to know that this pathetic rat would spend the next hour cowering in fear while keeping watch on the Muggles, too cowardly to suggest it would be as effective from inside the wards.

The Dark Lord immediately lost any interest in Peter Pettigrew's discomfort, he had more important issues to deal with; he was no longer able to get a grip on the boy's mind, his plans to get a hold of the Prophecy had all failed and Lucius was missing. His sources inside Hogwarts had reported that Lucius' son was not in Hogwarts, and there had been a piece of news in the Prophet reporting that Lucius' wife had left Britain by Muggle means.

Carefully hidden in a hole in the stone wall, Peter was watching the group of soldiers coming closer and closer. It looked like they were following the ward lines of Malfoy Estate, but something was amiss. Then it clicked. Two of them had their weapons strapped on their backs, and were holding…wands? Peter felt a rush of fear; the rodent inside was ready to flee, but the man realized that he was on the verge of making an important report to his Lord, to do something worthwhile, and carefully left his hiding place to…

Whoosh.

Something had grabbed him and sent him flying a couple yards away. He scampered off in a random direction to feel something trap his backside on the ground, before being toppled and sent in the air again. A cat? He'd been caught by a bloody cat, and…panicking, Peter was unable to focus and revert to his human form, and found himself caught by huge fangs and carried away. The cat – it was a bloody huge cat – ran for a while and suddenly dropped him. He shook himself, trying to get a hold on his fear, and abandoned his animagus form. But before he had time to get his wand, he saw a flash of red and the world went blank.

-x-

Once again, the atmosphere was tense. Dumbledore was having a hard time killing all the conversations around the meeting table and starting the Order of the Phoenix on this meeting's agenda, even if this agenda was quite simple, having a single entry: Sirius Black was missing. Many members were vocal on their theories: he had found a woman and his urges had got the best of him, he'd lost it and gone muggle, he'd been captured by Death Eaters who were planning to use him as a bait to catch Harry. He'd been arrested by Muggle Police, drunk in a gutter and being kept in a cell to sober up also had some favours.

"SILENCE!" Dumbledore had to use all his authority to eventually regain some control over the meeting. "We do have an issue" he stated. "Not only did Sirius Black not from escorting the children to Kings Cross, but I'm also concerned about Remus Lupin, who should have contacted me a few days ago for a status report about his mission in France."

"Do you think both disappearances are related?"

"Even if Sirius if impulsive and foolish, I'd never second-guess Remus' loyalty."

"Loyalty to whom, Albus?" asked Arthur Weasley. "They are fiercely protective of Harry, and Harry had been acting different lately. What if their loyalties are to Harry more than to the Order?"

"You mean that Potter is building his own forces? That's farfetched" replied Snape.

"No. I'm rather thinking of this third group we've been talking about. We still don't know who they are, what their goals are..."

"The Rubber Duck Conspiracy" said Tonks with a smile.

"That's not a laughing matter" snapped Molly Weasley.

"Sounds a lot like college humour to me" replied Tonks "something Sirius would fully endorse in a heartbeat."

"Silence!" barked Dumbledore, more and more upset by his growing difficulties to manage his group. He could feel a headache coming on. "Alastor?"

"I had a tracking charm on Sirius' ring"

"Had?"

"Had, as in no longer have. When we noticed his disappearance at Kings Cross, a couple minutes after the train left, I checked it and it was still active, showing he was moving quickly on a geometric pattern consistent with a muggle car in London. Then, the signal simply disappeared, either behind a ward or after cancellation of the charm.

"Cold track, then."

"Can it be related with the Malfoys disappearance? Young Draco is missing from Hogwarts and his father has not been seen since New Year's Eve? Severus?"

Severus Snape shook his head negatively. "I don't have any information on the subject. The Dark Lord is most displeased with both disappearances."

"And Harry?" asked Tonks. "Does he know about Sirius...?"

"No, and we won't burden him with more reasons to worry."

Tonks scowled.

"I fear his reaction when he'll learn all the information you withhold, Headmaster. I'd be pissed by less."

The meeting remained fruitless and everyone soon left Grimmauld Place. When Albus Dumbledore entered his office, he found an Eagle Owl in a staring contest with Fawkes. He relieved her of her letter and smiled, seeing the seal of the International Confederation of Wizards. Even if Fudge had managed to have him stripped from his Supreme Mugwump status, he had still a lot of faithful contacts willing to keep him into the loop. He broke the seal and unfolded the parchment.

And his smile vanished at once.

-x-

Another day was starting at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. Dozens of students were having breakfast in the Great Hall, in various states of wakefulness. The mail had just been delivered and Daily Prophets were unfolded. A wave of murmurs rose immediately.

"Harry?"

Harry stopped eating to look at Neville who was sitting in front of him. He was greeted by the newspaper headline surrounding a picture of a happy wizard.

"SIRIUS BLACK CLEARED BY ICW"

Albus (etc) Dumbledore chose this instant to enter the Great Hall, and his facial expression told Harry that he had nothing to do with this piece of news.

_Hermione, you're the best._

-x-

The first week passed quickly, the teachers reminding them that it was their OWL year, and had stepped up their workload accordingly. The sun had still to rise when Harry stepped out of Gryffindor Tower to make his way to the seventh floor corridor. He paced steadily thinking of a place to hide some junk and pushed open the door that eventually appeared.

"Oh, fuck me."

He had entered a cathedral, a cathedral dedicated to mischief, mistakes and misdeed. Facing him were alignments of junk, broken furniture, questionable items, books, clothes, jewellery, decayed food, rusty weapons, and even a stuffed troll. He almost missed the Horcrux inside his head. If Voldemort had hidden one of his in this room, he might have felt it through their link, but now, he just had to do it the hard way. The needle in a haystack way. Of course, there was no such thing as a Horcrux detection spell, or even a Dark Magic detection spell. His only way out of this mess was gambling on Voldemort setting a ward – whatever the intent – around the object, so he might detect it with a crude ward revealing spell he had found in Number Twelve.

Unfortunately, the spell often reacted to enchanted objects, and enchanted objects were common in the room. After three hours of scanning, he had to leave the place for breakfast, empty-handed, having barely covered ten percent of the room. He spent the morning in the library, wrapping up his Charms and Transfiguration homework, and was about to head towards the great hall when he noticed a tiny frame struggling to put a huge book back on the shelves.

"Let me help you…" he said, catching the book and lifting it.

"Thank you…eep!" the girl squealed recognising him. He blushed recognising her. She was the third year raped by the twins a few weeks ago. He forced a smile.

"You're Anna, aren't you?"

"Err, yes, I guess"

He raised an eyebrow, openly amused.

"Well, Yes, I am" she added.

He helped her put back another book.

"Are you okay Anna?"

She shrugged. "I guess".

He frowned. "Bullies?"

He saw her face darken, before she shrugged again dismissively.

"Anna, you must tell me, or tell a prefect if someone is bullying you or one of your friends. Whatever his House, okay?"

"Yeah" she replied in a bored voice, packing her bag.

Pushing his legilimency wasn't necessary, she was radiating anger and shame. He felt his own anger building. Bastards.

"Sorry?"

"What?"

"You whispered something..." she said.

"Did I?"

She stopped in her tracks. "You know" she whispered in a strangled voice.

'Oh shit.'

She was on the verge of tears, and he knew he had to do something. He grabbed her hand and brought her in a dusty unused passageway, then in a little room; he sealed the door, putting his schoolbag on a table and his wand of(on) top, before sitting on a stone bench. He exhaled and spoke.

"I Know. I know what the Weasley Twins did, and that's why one of them his missing"

"You hurt him?"

"Kind of. But it's not the point. I should have stopped them, but..."

"...but Umbridge would have got your hide"

"What?"

"It was part of the game" she replied calmly.

It was now time for Harry to feel his anger boiling. It could not be...He closed his eyes and counted form one to ten slowly to keep his temper in check. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, of course, they wanted to punish me for sneaking on them, but they were waiting for you to be in the area. They knew you go somewhere in the evenings, they had not(hadn't) guessed where, and that night they caught me with a spell and waited for you to leave the tower. Then they waited in this classroom and set the thing up, and we waited for a couple hours before you came back and they started their...game. Like, as if they wanted you to find them. They spoke about a map you have, and reckoned you'd check it while heading back."

Harry leaned back against the wall. "It was a setup?"

"They were just piling up benefits" replied Anna, "they reckoned that by giving Umbitch an edge over you, well, bringing her your head on a platter, it would be beneficial to their business. On(In) the short term, she would likely leave them make their deals inside the castle, and on the long run, she might smooth their dealings with the Ministry".

They stayed silent for a while, and she spoke again.

"Don't kill them. Yet. They are not worth the risk"

He nodded in silence.

"Very Slytherin in your reasoning, Anna"

"The Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin" she said, shrugging.

"Did it?"

She nodded. "During my first Express ride, I had overheard some people complaining about Slytherin being the nest of all Dark Lords, so I begged it to be sorted anywhere but in Slytherin."

Harry snorted. "Your story sound familiar"

"I sometimes wonder if things had been different, if I'd been sorted there"

"You're a Muggleborn. I don't think it would've been a walk in the park"

She shrugged, bit her lip, and diverted her stare.

"I can talk to snakes" she whispered.

"What?"

"I can talk to snakes" she said forcefully, glaring at him, "like, I'm a Parselmouth, okay?"

Harry sighted heavily, groaning. "Why do things get more and more complicated?"

-x-

Hermione locked the door and dropped her keys on the kitchen counter. She unfastened her gun holster from her belt, and put it away in a drawer, before dropping on the couch. She let her stare wander round the little flat. A short hallway, a kitchenette behind a counter, single bedroom and a tiny bathroom with a shower, in a four-story building in Glasgow. Nothing much, but it was not a longer apparition jump to Hogsmeade than Moab to Boulder. She flipped open her cell phone and speed dialled her mother, while opening the folder Dave had given her.

"Hermione?"

"Hi mum. Had a safe flight?"

"Yes, everything is fine, thank you? How's Scotland?"

"Same as usual. The flat's nice enough." she replied, sorting the contents of the file. "It's weird walking the streets of Hogsmeade without the crowd of Hogwarts students." she added with a smile, noticing Harry's scrawl on a sheet of parchment. She put it aside and quickly skimmed over the remaining documents while making small talk with her mother.

Once the call was over, she made herself a cup of tea and went back to the couch, opening Harry's letter.

_Hermione,_

_SNAFU here; most are gossiping about the Malfoy disappearance, and the staff has(have) been burying us under homework. I spent a dozen hours this week-end(weekend) combing the Room of Requirement and nothing emerged, but when used as a junk room, it's larger than the Great Hall, so I'm keeping faith._

_There is a story I withheld, because I'm not proud of the way I handled things, but a new development happened;_

_A few days before Winter Break, I was walking back from the RoR, checking the Map, when I noticed the Twins with a third year in a room. I spied on them, and saw them raping her as a punishment. I was unable to help her, and I've been having a hard time coping with my inaction so far. But today, a chance encounter on the library allowed me to talk to her. Two issues arose:_

_First, the whole thing was akin to a setup. The Twins expected me to intervene and somehow implicate me, likely to gain some favours, or merely to have blackmail material on me. I don't really know. I've got the feeling they were just driven by their greed, but we must be extra careful with them._

_Second, the girl is a Parselmouth. Her name is Anna Darbishire(2); she's a third year muggleborn from Linbury (Sussex), and looking into her family tree might be useful: we are so few Parselmouth down there that any information we can find is welcome; I brought her into the study group building around Neville, Ginny and me (you must know Demelza Robbins too)._

_Love,_

_Harry._

Hermione traced the love with a goofy smile before letting the contents of the letter sink in. She snapped out of her dream state and switched her computer on, writing a quick email to the agency. Then, she apparated to Hogsmeade and entered a nondescript cottage.

"Hey, Sophie, already back?"

"Evening, Dave. Can I borrow your fireplace?"

"Sure thing, love"

And with silent thanks, she tossed a pinch of floo powder in the fire, saying "St Mungo's Hospital".

-x-

With a sigh, Harry pushed open the wooden door to enter the Room Of Requirements in junk warehouse mode. He scanned his notepad and resumed his quest. He spent the next hour examining object after object, until he felt drawn to a corner. A dagger was lying on a dusty cushion and he levitated it in a spot of light to examine it. Revealing spells only showed it was magically active. He was very tempted to pull it out of its sheath; in fact, he was feeling a real urge to get it, a feeling so powerful it was arousing. Oh shit. He struggled to move away from the dagger, but was barely managing to keep his hand away from the hilt. After a few minutes of indecision, he eventually had an idea.

"Kreacher!"

Then almost frantically "Kreacher!"

Pop.

The elf appeared at his side, and after a few seconds raised his hand, his face torn by concentration. Harry stumbled and fell backwards.

"Thank you, Kreacher, I owe you one"

"Kreacher is not so sure. Kreacher felt very powerful magic. This was not Dark Magic, Master Harry. That was blood magic. Kreacher shielded it but it's already leaking through"

The elf waved his hand, flipping the dagger over.

"Master Harry should look at the dagger. Yes, those are the ways of an Old Bloodline"

Harry watched the elf dubiously, before squinting to have a better look at the dagger. He could make out snakes and Griffins.

"This Dagger is safe for Harry Potter" said the Elf, before popping away.

Feeling quite a bit silly, Harry walked closer. The pull was getting stronger and he felt desire burning. "That's a hell of a compulsion" he thought, eventually closing his fingers on the handle. He felt something run from the dagger into his body, forming a wave of pleasure that overwhelmed him.

He opened his eyes, blinked. He was naked in a deserted railway station, his penis still under the influence of the Dagger.

"Fuck. Yet another afterlife metaphor" he growled, more upset than embarrassed.

"Prongslet! Come over!"

He willed a robe to cover him, and it did. "I'm getting better at this" he thought, walking towards a waiting room. He stopped on the threshold.

"James?" He was surprised by the use of his father's first name, realising he was unable to call him 'Dad', moreover since the aforementioned man was sprawled on a couch, naked, with a blond woman noisily sucking his penis.

Harry wondered if he was relieved that it was not his mother, and incensed by his father's pampered prince attitude. James Potter laughed.

"You should see your face! As if your girlfriend never gave you a blowjob!"

The woman stopped her ministrations, and slowly morphed in a copy of Hermione, advancing towards him. Harry stepped back.

"Oh, you little wanker!" said James "I just know what's on your mind"

And Hermione became Ginny Weasley.

"Stop this!"

James sat up, a frown on his face. Slowly, Ginny began to grow taller, her breasts disappeared and her shoulders broadened. A spectacular set of male genitalia appeared between her legs and Harry was now facing a horny Cedric Diggory.

"You are a nightmare, Potter" growled Harry, throwing the dagger. The weapon hit James square in the heart, and he felt on his knees, bathing in the flow of blood.

Then he heard somebody clapping. There was no more blood, no more naked James Potter, no more Cedric or Ginny or Hermione. A man in his fifties, with unruly silver hair, was coming towards him.

"Well done, well done, young Harry. That was rather Freudian, wasn't it?"

"Who are you?"

"My name is Oliver Potter" said the man. "I'm Charlus Potter's"

"Grandfather, yes. Charlus' Grandfather"

"Oh, you know of your line?"

"An elf found it for me."

"Very unusual"

"Welcome to my life, great-grandpa" snapped Harry "What the fuck is this place? Did I die again?"

"No, no, this is just a dream, I guess. It's just because you found the Potter Ceremonial Dagger, it's been lost for a while, since my idiot of a son, his name was James, by the way, stole it for a reason I'd rather not know."

"I found it in Hogwarts."

"Hogwarts?"

"Yes, in the Room where all discarded junk ends."

Oliver Potter huffed indignantly. "I daresay I should have disowned him. But he was our only son and it would have put an end to the Potter Line, something I couldn't consider."

"Yet another skeleton in the Potter Closet, uh..." said Harry with a smirk. Softening, he asked: "What is the meaning of this Dagger? Since it brought your memory into my dream, it's not something without significance, is it?"

"Yes, of course. This is a Ceremonial Dagger, something akin to a sceptre for the family head. It was of capital importance when Blood Magic was involved."

"Blood Magic?"

"Yes, a way to tie Magic – usually, in the fields of enchantment and warding – to related individuals. Its main use was protection and strengthening of individuals, but it was effective for cursing families, and thus was associated with Dark Magic and was ostracized outside the Ancient Houses. A Dagger like this one has been imbued with Potter Blood since the Roman Empire, providing an innate connection with our Magic. You should even be able to cast spells through it, but be careful, for it is almost sentient and can...have its own interpretation of your intent."

Harry nodded.

"It was a great pleasure to meet you, young Harry. I see great things in you, and I know that the Potter Line will live, and live to its expectations. Thank you."

"Wait, don't leave, I have so many questions..."

But Harry realised he was now speaking to a pile of rubbish in the Room of Requirement.

"...for you" he completed in a whisper. He spent the next few minutes lying on his back, observing the patterns of the intersecting arcs in the vaulted ceiling, his mind blank, before getting a grasp on himself and sitting up. He unsheathed the Dagger and observed it carefully. The blade was rather wide, two inches, narrowing at the two-thirds, for a total length that could not exceed ten inches. Harry had seen images of this kind of weapons in books on the Roman Empire – he'd been fond of this era and had read lots about it in the school library. It was looking like a Pugio, those daggers the Romans appreciated for their efficiency in close combat. It was a given that Julius Caesar' murderers had used pugiones.

But this one was quite different for the canon Pugio. If the blade was shaped like designed two thousand years ago, the handle was more recent, likely medieval in its design. He was puzzled by the carving of a Griffin with a snake coiled around one of his forelegs. An emerald was set in a side of the hilt, and a ruby on the other. Does that mean than Slytherin and Gryffindor were buddies? Or...Ew. He stood up and, no longer in the mood for a methodical exploration, wandered aimlessly in the room, holding the Dagger in his hand. He noticed that it was, from time to time, humming or vibrating slightly, as if trying to convey information, and wondered if it could somehow understand his intent to find a dark object and thus work as a Dark Magic Detector? At some point, he was almost convinced when it brought him in front of a closed cabinet. He carefully cracked open the door, and as soon as it was slightly ajar, frost started to spread around him, coming with an angst mood. Harry stepped back while a skeletal hand began to push the door open from inside. He tried to come with a funny mutation of a dementor but no idea could come, so he chose the good ol' Dementor One-Two and, thinking of Hermione, fired his best Patronus to the boggart. He felt backwards against the shock of the almost golden doe exploding at the end of the Dagger he was holding, rushing into the closet, making it explode as the boggart was crumpled under its hooves. A few seconds later, a cloud of dust was falling slowly over a heap of splinters. The Patronus was watching Harry, its head slightly cocked. Harry stood up and dusted himself, tentatively patting the doe. It was not solid, but he could feel the density of the mist, like thick foam.

"Thank you" he whispered, and the doe vanished slowly. He breathed slowly to pace down his heartbeat, before walking out of the Room. He was done with emotions for the day, and was in dire need of a shower.

-x-

Severus Snape limped passed the Gargoyle and waited for the revolving stairs to bring him up in front of Dumbledore's office. He limped into the room when the door opened and felt into the awaiting armchair.

"That bad, Severus?"

"The Dark Lord was most upset, Albus. He doesn't feel the brat anymore, and worse, he feels like his power his lacking."

"Lacking?"

"Yes; up to a few weeks ago, he had a huge amount of power available, and he now seems to come short rather quickly."

"Tom was always a powerful wizard."

"Yes, but he was convinced that the ritual that brought him back to life had made him stronger. But now, he feels like he tires faster, as if reloading his core was more taxing."

Dumbledore nodded. Snape was rubbing his eyes tiredly.

-x-

"'morning Wilkins."

"McElroy" replied Hermione with a nod "How was the week-end?"

"Fine, yours?"

"Pretty cool" she replied, sitting on the chair in front of the desk she was borrowing. She had just apparated into the secluded area of the Royal Air Force base near Edinburgh Airport where the Joint Task Force "V" was hosted. She put her mug of coffee on the side of her desk and switched her computer on; she had some research to do on one Anna Darbishire. Neither St Mungo's nor the Ministry of Magic had provided any information of importance about the girl: it was time to hit the Muggle world and its digitalized archives.

-x-

Harry entered the Headmaster's office. He'd received a note at lunch requesting him for a meeting and was relieved to see only his Head of House along the Headmaster.

"Ah, Harry, you're on schedule, perfect."

"Good evening, Headmaster, Professor McGonagall."

"Please take a seat. First let me tell you that you're not in trouble. This meeting is just related to the recent release of your Godfather. He wishes for you to join him in a fortnight to reacquaint." Dumbledore paused for the effect before adding in a conspirator's tone: "after all, you've not met for fourteen years, have you?"

Harry smirked.

"Where is he now?"

"In one of the Blacks properties on the continent. A chalet in Switzerland, in a place called Gstaad"

Harry nodded. He'd seen the name in those gossip papers Petunia was so fond of. He scowled. Trust Sirius to recover among the people of leisure.

"I'd be delighted. Do you know how he managed this stunt? I mean, being cleared by the ICW and all?"

"Basically, because Peter Pettigrew was captured by French Aurors who shipped him to the ICW. A surprising move indeed, since both the French Ministry and the ICW have not been understanding for a few months."

Harry nodded again. Hermione, you're the best.

-x-

Hermione was frustrated. She had been working like a dog for a week for almost naught. Anna Derbishire's files were almost useless: orphaned, with no data about her birth parents, raised adequately by a foster squib family in York, good grades and few friends at school until Hogwarts, Holly and Dragon Heartstring wand. On another hand, Sirius Black's debriefing had been useless as well, and the last meeting had ended with her knee between his legs in order to help him think with his brain, for once.

Her last resort was a blood sample from Anna and a huge subscription to porn websites featuring barely legal women for Black, just to keep him busy. Thrilling.

-x-

The last Portkey dropped Harry in a wooden cabin. He had flooed from McGonagall's office to the Ministry, where he had taken an international portkey to Geneva, and after a thorough screening, he had been allowed a last ride to Gstaad.

He examined his surroundings, and tensed when the door opened. A bulky wizard eyed him, before asking with a thick Germanic accent:

"Harrrry Potterrr?"

"Yes, that's me."

"Follow me."

Harry wrapped his coat tighter and felt in step with the wizard, into the blizzard. They walked a short distance, and the man just nodded towards a door. Harry stepped inside, closed the door and opened a second one leading into a warm hallway. He hung his coat and scarf, dropped his bag on a bench, and entered.

"Prongslet!"

"Sirius! Freedom suits you!"

Harry had to admit that Sirius Black had never looked better. His muggle clothes were immaculate and fitting, his hair was perfectly cut and his goatee carefully trimmed. He radiated an air of aristocratic confidence. His eyes betrayed the overall appearance, for they alternated from a childish mirth to a haunted anguish, and it made Harry initiate the hug, for once.

Free from Mrs Weasley's bossiness, Sirius was soon brandishing a bottle of Polish Firewhiskey, and Harry knew at once bringing a vial of hangover potion had been a good idea.

-x-

When the last light went off, Hermione sighted and stood up. Keeping watch over Sirius' chalet until late had been a torture, with Harry inside. She patrolled around the building in her puma form, sniffing Harry's sent amongst the vapours of alcohol. Sirius was snoring soundly. Joining Harry in his room was tempting. Bloody sense of duty!

-x-

Harry woke up at dusk, an unpleasant taste in the mouth as only reminder of the bonding night with Sirius. He showered quickly, musing on his luck: his Godfather had been drunk quickly enough to spare him a night out with some 'nice ladies' of his acquaintances. He whipped himself a quick breakfast and stepped onto the terrace, a mug of tea in his hands. The sky was cloudy, and he wondered if a snow storm was coming. All was silent, without any sign of life. He could see the footprints coming from the cabin, and the prints of an animal around the chalet. Prints looking like those of a feline, a tad larger than a cat's. He smiled, losing himself in some fantasy of many other bright winter mornings with company and no Dark Lord around.

He was pulled out of his dreamstate by the smooth sound of feathers, as an Eagle was smoothly landing on the railing.

"Hey beautiful" said Harry.

The bird hopped and held his leg, where a roll was attached. Putting his mug down, he broke the intricate seal and read.

_Dear Mr Potter,_

_It came to our attention that you are currently in Switzerland. Gringotts Global is eager to setup a meeting to address some important issues regarding your status, both legal and financial. If you are agreeable, Gringotts Global will provide you a two way portkey to our facilities in Bern._

_Kashmeister Schwartzduk_

_Gringotts Global Asset Management._

"Good news, pup?" asked a voice behind him.

Harry push back a scathing resort and merely replied "I'd say interesting news. Have a look"

Sirius scanned the letter and let a low whistle.

"GGAM? Wow."

"What's with the 'Wow'? I reckon it's just Gringotts worldwide, a step above London Branch"

"Well, there's Asset Management inside. Sounds Grand."

Harry raised an eyebrow, and snickered: "Sounds like the good ol' Goblins Save The Day plotline, you know."

"You might get benefits from this meeting."

"Yeah, or learn that my father left me a billion galleons in gambling debts and a Betrothal Contract with Millicent Bulstrode"

"James was not a gambler!" replied Sirius, outraged.

"I'll take note you did not deny the Betrothal Contract part" grumbled Harry while writing a reply "have you ever seen Bulstrode?"

Nevertheless, half an hour later, the same Eagle was back with another letter, and Harry had to tap it with his wand to activate the Portkey. As he was feeling the telltale hook behind the navel thing, he heard the faint popping sound of a Firewhiskey bottle opening.

-x-

"He'll be there soon, are you done here?"

"Yes Director" replied Hermione. "Gringotts Global has been incommensurably helpful opening those files for us"

"So you found something interesting?"

"Definitely" she said, spinning her chair to face Pileggi. "Guess what?"

"Anna Darbishire is Harry Potter's long lost twin?"

She smiled.

"Anna Darbishire Grandfather is Marvollo Gaunt's squib son. Oldest son. Dumped as a baby by his parents, but never cast out of the family"

"Oh my..."

"Yes" said Hermione, pausing for the show. "Legally and Magically, Anna Darbishire is the true Heir of Salazar Slytherin."

-x-

Harry appeared into a sunlit circular room. As soon as he had steadied himself, two heavily armoured Goblins entered, taking position on the sides of the door, and another Goblin, clad in civilian clothes, came in.

"Mr Potter, welcome to Gringotts Global, I'm Kashmeister Schwartzduk"

"My honour and my pleasure, Herr Schwartzduk. May your gold flow as well as the blood of your enemies."

The Goblin bowed in response.

"Please, follow me."

It was a short walk to a circular room. As soon as everyone was sat, Schwartzduk went to the point:

"Mister Potter, we are very thankful for your time, because we have lots of discrepancies in your affairs and it will be beneficial for all of us to sort them out. This room is held in a time field, so your agenda won't be too much disturbed, whatever the duration of this meeting, although I hope it will not exceed a few hours."

Harry nodded.

"The first issue is legal: even if the Potter family is not a Most Noble house, it's nonetheless an Ancient family and as the last living heir, you are entitle to some benefits, like claiming your status as Head of House as soon as your eleventh birthday, even if, for obvious reasons, the level of autonomy you get is quite restricted, with more responsibilities given each year. The curious thing is, even if the Potter ring is still in its chest, you appeared a few days ago as the Head of House. Since you're over fifteen, you are now considered an adult with regards to the law"

Harry smiled.

"Can the bonding with another Family Heirloom have triggered such an event?"

"Such as?"

Harry reached into his lower back where the Dagger's sheath was fixed to his belt and detached it, laying it on the table. Then, he slowly unsheathed the weapon. The Goblins did not hide their surprise.

"That's a surprising event" simply stated Schwartzduk.

The portkey dropped Harry at Sirius's chalet a few minutes after his departure. A slightly annoyed Harry, for he was not able to tell if the five hour long meeting had been really useful. Granted, he was now aware that he was free of Underage Magic restrictions, that he had a few million galleons here and there, a manor in Wales and a castle in the Highlands available. Plus an Island in the Maldives archipelago, but it was rather useless in the short term. (3)

The chalet was empty, bar a note from Sirius telling that he had gone 'downtown' to run a few errands. Harry groaned to the thought of what those errands could be. Since the alcohool reserve was far from empty, he guessed they were involving busty blondes. He sliced open a loaf of bread, stuffed it with Aosta ham, a handful of pickles and left towards the forest. He walked for half an hour, until reaching a high point, with a gorgeous view of the valley and far beyond, where a high mountain with a smooth summit was seemingly topping all others.

"That's the Mont Blanc, Harry. Western Europe's highest summit." Said a voice behind him.

"I knew that, Hermione" he replied without looking at her.

"So I'm no longer the walking encyclopaedia at your service? Ohh poor me, useless and rejected, without goal in my life? What shall I become? What can I do to..."

"Start by shutting the fuck up and kissing me, woman!"

Hermione snorted and complied. There were time like those where being assigned to VIP protection had its perks, sense of duty be dammed.

-x-

Harry portkeyed back to Hogwarts reluctantly. Childish godfather aside, staying in a chalet in Switzerland with his bodyguard was more compelling than blending in an overall hostile crowd, confined within the walls of a cold and mouldy castle. He was not looking forward resuming classes, he was not looking forward sleeping alone and under a silencing charm to keep away his dorm mates snores, he was not looking forward eating in the noisy Great Hall, and he was not looking forward spending hours in the Room of Requirements searching for an item enchanted with Dark Magic. He buried himself in his homework, but even this task was over long before curfew. He then decided for a trip to the Owlery to check on Hedwig, and on his way back, found himself driven to the seventh floor and Barnabas the Barmy.

The Room of Requirements was its usual self, full of garbage and he was tempted to leave at once, but eventually chose to wander aimlessly. There was little time to curfew and he was about to head back when he felt the Dagger vibrate. He stepped back and forth and the weapon's vibrations seem to vary accordingly, so he unsheathed it and held it like a water diviner's rod, circling slowly until the Dagger evaded his grasp and sunk itself into a chest. A blue chest with bronze linings. He opened the chest using his wand and there, lying on a mouldy cushion, was lying a goblin-made diadem.

* * *

Author Notes

(1) Retired Italian fashion models remain fashionable for quite a long time. Bar one (personal vendetta).

(2) Even if I've been an enthusiastic fan of Jennings books (by the way, Jennings and Darbishire came out as "Bennett et Mortimer" in French), this story will not evolve into a Jennings/Harry Potter crossover. Although the plot bunny sounds compelling at first.

(3) Hear hear! You got a bit of the Goblins doing the Fiscal and Legal mojo, that's another cliché down, Goblin Greeting included. Take note that I'll spare you the shopping spree: there are borders one should never cross. And don't waste time googling Kashmeister, I made up the title to have something sounding Germanic.

(4) As a matter of fact, it seems to be a bit tricky to see the Mont Blanc from Gstaad, but not impossible, according to a test I ran with Google Earth. Please suspend your disbelief, I had to let Hermione use her signature 'lecture mode'.


	15. Cleanup

_**Here you go faithful readers. This text, although inspired by the works of J.K. Rowling, belongs to the realm of fanfiction, without any intent to make money (as if...) or any other kind of profit. As a benefit, we will not have the burden of a crappy epilogue, in which we might guess that it took Ron Weasley almost nineteen years to pass his driving licence. Bloody wanker.**_

**Chapter 15 – Cleanup**

The Shrieking Shack had not changed since her last visit, but once in the tunnel leading to the Whomping Willow, she realised how much _she_ had changed, at least physically; she had to lower her head after a couple of painful encounters with roots, and eventually switch to her puma form to advance faster. She felt a pang of anger and sadness when she saw the silhouette of the castle in the pale moonlight, distorted by her feline eyes, and ran towards the lake, following the instructions Harry had given her. She soon caught his scentin the cold air and, treading carefully on the icy slabs of the shore, reached the base of the cliff and an almost invisible passage. She paused, a bit annoyed that her Animagusform was unable to use the communication devices, and became human again.

"Wilkins, ready to enter the den."

"Roger, support in position. We have a joint hit team and a muggle one with enablers."

"Good to know," she replied, smiling. The "enablers" were simple pendants enchanted to nullify muggle repelling charms, provided by many ministries in the world to the parents of muggleborns. She knew that her parents were in the 'hit team' and Hawkeye had a brand new .50 rifle and was disturbingly eager to use it. "What about Malfoy Manor?"

"Four Tornadoes loaded with GBU 24 should be off ready to strike, and a whole Squadron is on alert if more are required."

"Great, good luck, guys, Wilkins Out."

She transformed back into a puma and entered the cave. Harry's scent was stronger, and she broke into a run in the tunnel diving into the bowels of Hogwarts. She had been running for a mile when suddenly, the tunnel opened into a large vaulted room, where two people were waiting. She had barely recovered her human appearance when Harry engulfed her in a hug, a rather chaste hug, under the scrutiny of the young girl that was with him. When they broke apart, Hermione examined her.

"You must be Anna?"

The girl watched her in awe.

"You...You are Hermione Granger, aren't you?" Then a wide smile appeared on her face. "We all thought you were dead! And you're an Animagus too...that's so wicked! I can't wait to tell the others!"

"The others?" asked Hermione, looking questioningly at Harry, who shrugged.

"Yes." Replied Anna enthusiastically. "You know, you did set an example for the Muggleborns in the lower years, and many of us have been working hard like you! And since you disappeared, we told the first years about everything you did! About your grades and how you stood up to people like Malfoy or Weasley and how you would prove day after day that ancestry would not matter!"

Harry snorted. "You got quite the fan club here..."

Hermione smiled, reddening, while Anna was bouncing with excitement.

"Shall we proceed, ladies?" eventually asked Harry to break the awkward situation. He walked through an archway leading into a damp tunnel, sparsely lit by globes of a kind of crystal glowing a greenish light. The tunnel was blocked by a wooden door and when Anna whispered some Parseltongue, the door swung open.

Hermione's jaw fell open, at the sight of the huge cavern-like place, the oversized statues and, not the least impressive feature, the sixty foot snake frozen in the last spasms of death.

Harry made a grand gesture and declared "Welcome to the Chambers Of Secrets, Agent Wilkins".

It took a while for Hermione to snap out of her stupor and start walking towards the middle of the chamber. She tentatively put a hand on the Basilisk scales. The monster was in pristine condition, only its head was damaged, with stains of a mix of dried blood and vitreous humour under the eyes pierced by Dumbledore's phoenix three years ago.

"The Basilisk tissues are toxic enough that there are no bacteria able to start the decaying process." commented Harry.

"This carcass must be a gold mine..."

"Yeah, Basilisk parts are rather valuable. And in such a quantity, we'll own the market for a century, even with a hefty share to Hogwarts."

"We?" asked Hermione, raising an eyebrow.

"Harry can claim the carcass by Right of Conquest and me, because I own the Chamber and its contents as the Heir of Slytherin." replied Anna. "The Founders put their estates in common while creating Hogwarts, but in the process agreed to keep privileges on tiny parts, for sentimental reasons, I guess. Apart for the Chamber, which was built by Slytherin's ancestors a couple centuries before the founding, there is little evidence of the other founders' parts. Gryffindor's might be just below McGonagall's office and Ravenclaw's the Room of Requirement"

"Oh."

"Yep." Cut in Harry. "Shall we go back to business, then?"

Hermione nodded, and followed Harry towards the other side of the Snake's head.

"Is that?" she asked, pointing to a patch of dried dark liquid.

"Yeah, that's where I stabbed the Diary"

"Fuck me." whispered Hermione.

"Not now, Hermione"

"Harry!" She was about to scold him for his terrible joke when she stopped in front of a kind of stone altar, where three lead boxes were waiting.

"Why lead?"

"They leaked." replied Harry. "Something like that, I mean, when I collected them, I began feeling strange compulsions. I think that three fragments – three being a significant number, arithmancy wise and all – are somewhat stable, you know, some kind of balance. When we brought them close, we could feel pulls on our magic, and they began rattling, as if the Horcruxes were trying to regroup. We had to put them in those containers and to keep them isolated."

Each picked a container and they took places at some distance before opening the boxes, but the items began humming, almost visible tendrils of magic slithering towards them. They quickly shut the boxes.

"Sound like they are whispering, Harry" observed Anna.

"I didn't..." began Hermione, before realization dawned on her. "Yeah, parseltongue."

"One at a time, you reckon?" asked Harry. Hermione and Anna acknowledged silently.

"We should split them." suggested Anna "Behind a door or something. We could put one behind the entrance, in the tunnel..."

"And the other behind the statue, if I can get it to close..." said Harry.

Hermione picked one of the lead boxes with a levitation charm and followed Anna, who hissed the huge door open, while Harry was levitating another one into the tunnel behind the statue of Salazar Slytherin.

The remaining box began to rattle, as if the item inside was sensing the danger. Harry was struggling to dislodge a fang without accidentally poisoning himself.

"Hurry up." said Hermione, levitating the box as close as possible to the basilisk's head. "Justdrop the locket to impale it on a fang, Harry"

"Oh, yes, right."

Harry waved his wand to open the box and then levitated the locket, but when he dropped it on the fang, it slid and felt to the ground. He tried and failed again, and could feel tendrils of magic trying to reach him. He was sweating and his grip on his wand was imprecise, his hand shaking with stress.

"Harry, calm down" said Hermione

"Maybe, if you open it?" suggested Anna.

"Yeah, yeah" replied Harry wiping his brow and taking deep breathes.

"_Open"_ was whispered in parseltongue.

Even if he was bracing himself against this kind of assault, he was overwhelmed at once by a vision. He was in a canyon, crystal water running slowly between sandstone cliffs. Someone was swimming smoothly. It was Hermione, of course, and he watched, fascinated, as she stepped out of the water, naked, and felt a tightness in his pants, a brutal desire for rough sex. But another character appeared, and another. He recognized them from pictures taken in Moab. The Jock and the Nerd, he could not remember their names, and couldn't care, as they were naked, and ready for sex. He saw Hermione smiling to them, leaning in their embraces, moaning under their touches. She made eye contact with him and whispered: "See how cool my life without you is, Harry. You're not worth the trouble, be kind and go bugger yourself with a Basilisk fang while I enjoy my real friends." Then, she sunk on her knees and, after cooing a bit, proceed with a thorough pleasuring of an insanely oversized anonymous penis, while a male voice was saying, mockingly "Yeah, go bugger yourself, Scarhead."

"Well, there's nothing wrong with a nice dick in the ass, son!" said another voice.

Harry blinked. The scenery had changed from the canyon to a room, a posh rendition of the Gryffindor dormitories, but with only a huge four poster bed, where James Potter was mocking him while having sex – doggy style, of course – with Sirius Black.

"You're such a waste."

He spun on his heels, to face his mother. He was somewhat relieved to see she was not having sex with anyone, fully clothed, but it did not last, for contempt was obvious on her face. She was looking at him reprovingly, and, with a venomous voice that would have made Walburga Black flinch, stated: "You're just like your father".

"You're just like your father." Lily Evans was repeating the sentence like a mantra, while her skin was slowly changing, and Harry realised that she was turning into mud.

Something clicked. Maybe the Horcruxhad gone overboard with this last allegory, but Hermione – the real one – and Anna saw him snap out of his trance, grab the locket with his bare hands and pin it on a fang, while yelling "Thereis no such thing as a mudblood!"

The Chamber was filled with a piercing scream, while a cloud of some black substance was trying to escape the locket, and failing, dissolving quickly, while Harry was repeating "Thereis no such thing as a mudblood" again and again.

Hermione rushed to hug him and whisper soothing words, planting small kisses on his tear-stained cheeks. She led Harry away from the poisonous fangs and picked the second box, which began rattling.

"God that thing is perceptive" she said, while Harry was slumping against a wall, exhausted**.**

He watched Hermione open the box and levitate a struggling diadem towards the Basilisk's head. The Horcrux was almost touching a fang when it suddenly threw itself towards Hermione and Harry watched, terrified, as it settled around her head and she was thrown back across the whole chamber. He scrambled on his feet but found himself on his knees, his vision blurred. As he was trying to move, he did not notice Anna kicking the last box open, grabbing Hufflepuff's cup and stabbing it on a fang in a single swift motion before hurrying towards Hermione.

Hermione was in a world of nonsense. It had started with sheer terror when the Diadem had forcefully settled itself on her head, then a sharp pain when her skull had felt like being split open on the Chamber wall, then nothing.

And now, she was slowly regaining her senses on the wet grass of a meadow. _Oh, shit, not again._ She could hear birds singing in the distance, the buzzing of an insect flying from flower to flower, and a steady grinding noise she eventually identified as a cow mowing enthusiastically a few feet away. She tried to shake the pain away and stand up. She was still dressed in her camouflage clothes, her wand in its holster, and a gun on her hip. She looked around, the meadow was on the shores of a large lake, and turning a bit, she saw the familiar silhouette of Hogwarts. Familiar, but somehow different, maybe smaller, with some missing features.

She jogged towards the entrance; young people, likely students, were hurrying away from the castle, barely registering her. A young man tried to stop her near the entrance.

"Stop, stranger!"

She paused to consider him: he was a lanky redhead, puffing his chest in a posture of authority, reminding her of a Head Boy of her youth.

"Fuck Off, Weasel!" she barked, shoving him aside, jogging towards where she thought the Great Hall should be, attracted by a commotion. She did not notice some younger students snicker, despite the tense situation, and one of them claim that the pompous git had landed himself a long lasting nickname.

On the threshold of the Great Hall, she was surprised by the ceiling, which was a simple stone vault, not yet enchanted to copy the sky. She quickly tried to assert the situation, and considered the four people remaining in the middle of the hall, involved in a heated argument. She met the eyes of one of the women, who stilled before smiling. Hermione came closer, attracted to those eyes, so familiar, with the exact tint she saw each time she looked into a mirror. The woman smiled in recognition and nodded almost imperceptibly, but the other people noticed her and the argument stopped.

"Who are you?" barked one of the men.

The other one observed her, alternating glances towards the woman. Hermione noticed his somewhat messy hair, and the sword on his hip.

"Rowen, is this who you saw?"

"I think so." replied the woman with a nod "The Diadem brought her to us."

"She's the Chosen One?"

"No, Sal. Things are not that simple. I saw teamwork"

"Let her speak." said the other man.

_Slytherin_, guessed Hermione, annoyed. _Now this farfetched script dropped me at the time of the founders_. _If this nonsense keeps running, I'll get a lightsabre__from some kind of greenish dwarf with no sense of syntax and my father will walk into a volcano._

"There's the Chosen One, but alone, he's powerless. She's my long lost heir, and your unexpected one should be around, isn't she?"

Hermione nodded. "She was identified as such a few days ago."

"Perfect: the usurper will fail, and your name will be restored to its true status, Salazar, so stop bitching will you." snapped Ravenclaw, before coming close to Hermione.

"Now it's up to you, dear. You've shown some amazing strength, so it's just a matter of tappinginto this willpower to deal with your Dark Lord. Shoo!"

"Scourgify!" Anna watched the remains of Harry's dinner vanishing from the ground and from his trousers and shook his shoulder. "Come on, Harry! Hermione's stuck with the Diadem."

Fighting his nausea, Harry walked unsteadily towards Hermione, puzzled by the faint glow surrounding the Diadem. Forgetting to think, he tried to touch it, to be thrown back, a couple fingers painfully burnt.

"Dammit, Harry! Do you ever think before rushing head first? Try and pick it with that fancy dagger of yours or...oh gosh" Anna was stopped in mid-rant by the sight of Hermione hovering, bathed in an ethereal glow. Harry grabbed Anna and stepped back, while a scream of agony filled the chamber. A dark substance was oozing from the Diadem, coalescing in mid-air. Suddenly, it lunged at Harry who whipped his dagger to bat it away. The Dagger emitted a flash of bluish light while the gunk was thrown into the middle of the chamber where it exploded in a final cry and a shower of sparks.

"Hermione!"

Harry and Anna rushed at Hermione's side. The glow was fading away and she was lying on the ground, moaning faintly.

"Are you okay?"

"Fuck no." she whispered, rolling on her stomach, to rise on her hands and knees before sitting heavily. She rummaged in a cargo pocket, soon pulling a flask.

"Pain relieving potion anyone?" she asked, rising it in a salute before taking a big gulp.

"Oh gosh. I'm getting tired of all those metaphors and shit."

"How come? Did you meet my mother again?" asked Harry.

"I'd bet for the Founders." said Anna with a chuckle.

"Spot on, kiddo. I think I must pass a message of some kind of Family Greatness and Honour to restore." she replied, sliding the flask back into her pocket.

"You wouldn't have something for nausea, would you?" asked Harry.

Hermione raised an eyebrow: "Another encounter with James?"

"Sort of..."

She rummaged in her pocket, pulled a plastic box and dropped a single pill onto Harry's hand.

"Muggle?"

"Designed for zero-gravity sickness."

"So? What now?" asked Anna, while Harry was swallowing the pill

"Voldemort and his snake are the two remaining soul fragments to destroy." said Harry. "The trick is to locate him. Have you got any intel about his whereabouts?"

Hermione nodded. "Likely Malfoy Manor. The location has been scouted, that's when we caught Wormtail, and the PM has given a clearance for a strike when needed, and..."

She paused in mid-sentence. All three had felt a shudder of sorts from the castle.

"I've got a very bad feeling about this."

"Is he...?"

"Yes, he's here. I feel him, like a taint in my blood."

-x-

Albus (etc) Dumbledore was having yet another Bad Day. Dolores Umbitch – he had taken a liking to the human toad's nickname used by the students – was again on the warpath against him and it was getting on his nerves.

Then, Harry Potter was out of sight_ again,_ missing dinner. Those habits of hiding with something to learn he had picked from the Late Know-it-All was also getting on his nerves.

He was so deep in his brooding that he missed the warning the Castle sent from the disturbance in the wards, and he was thinking over his plans for the future when a commotion was heard from outside the Great Hall. He was just standing up when the doors were pushed open and a bloody Caretaker thrown in front of the Staff Table. The cries of surprise of the assembled students were cut short when people wearing dark robes and well-feared masks entered and took place on the sides of the doors, while a single character was making a great entrance.

"Dumbledore, my old friend!"

"I was not expecting your visit Tom."

"Of course not, Headmaster." replied Voldemort in a dismissive voice. "After all, you very well know I've little interest in you, so I'll get to the point. You know, I've been told that to be an efficient villain, one should not waste time gloating and explaining how a genius he is in his evil plans." Then, he surveyed the students frozen at their seats – even Ron Weasley had stopped eating, for the show of a Dark Lord trying to joke was utterly terrifying.

"Where the fuck is Harry Potter?"

"Language, Tom." said Dumbledore in a benevolent voice, having a hard time finding a way to get out of this mess. Duelling Voldemort in the crowded Great Hall was the mother of bad ideas, and by the way, where was the brat? And what was this noise outside? Something sounding like fireworks?

"Tom Marvolo Riddle, Son of Merope!"

Everybody jumped in their seats, and even the Dark Lord was startled by the booming voice. The puzzlement increased when it became obvious that this voice belonged to a young girl, who was glaring at the allegedly most feared wizard around. Dumbledore cocked his head, trying to remember her name, but his deputy beat him.

"Miss Darbishire!"

"Please stay out of this, Professor, this is a family issue I wish to settle with my...uncle." she said with an overplayed distaste.

While everyone was stunned by the declaration – Darbishire is You Know Who's niece?, Dumbledore had noticed Harry Potter standing behind her, fingering his wand, looking amused. It was time to act, give Tom a chance to kill the Horcrux within Harry! He raised his wand and...

"Expelliarmus!"

Severus Snape had seen the Headmaster's gesture and was contemplating a facepalm when, to his surprise, the wand soared across the hall towards the outstretched hand of a young woman, in her twenties, with a dramatic likeness with the late Hermione Granger, only significantly hotter,in a military styled outfit. He saw her shudder when grabbing the handle, then blink, before her face broke into a huge grin.

"Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, old scoundrel! So you _had_ it!" then she stopped. "Harry, didn't he tell you he had your father's cloak to _study it_?"

Harry rose an eyebrow.

"You are an ugly twisted son of a bitch, you know that? The Potter's lives could have been saved by the cloak, but you were more interested in playing with the Hallows, weren't you?"

"Hem hem"

Everyone turned towards Voldemort who was growing upset with this had not planned his return in such a ridiculous show, and it was spiralling out of control. And what was this noise outside?

"Mulciber! Go and see what's happeningoutside and make it stop!"

The Death Eater walked out of the Hall, but as soon as he has passed the doors, his head disappeared in a bloody mist.

"What the..."

Anna's voice rose again: "Tom Marvolo Riddle!"

"What!"

The Dark Lord spun once again to face the annoying teen and decided to make an example out of her attitude.

"Avada Kedavra!" He had not finished the incantation that he knew that something was amiss. The curse was underpowered and she just sidestepped it, while _Potter_ – dammit, what was it with this brat and the Killing Curse – casually whipped a dagger and _absorbed _it.

"This is it, Tom Marvolo Riddle. You have sullied and disgraced the name of Salazar Slytherin for far too long. You have spouted nonsense and shamedthe family with narrow minded and bloodthirsty behaviour, and I call upon Magic to judge your unworthiness in belonging to the realm of the Founders Lines."

Silence fell on the crowd. Dumbledore felt a shift in the Castle wards. The girl was invoking the Old Laws: it required three people related to the Founders to enforce them. Harry was one of them, but he was not aware of this inheritance, was he? And what about the third?

His first question was immediately answered when Harry stepped forward:

"I, Harry James Potter, second the request, as Heir of the Gryffindor bloodline." A brief golden glow surrounded him and it felt like the Castle's magic.

"I, Hermione Jane Granger, in the stead of Ravenclaw, support the request." A brief but strong blue glow.

Dumbledore shook his head, to try and wake out of this bad dream, but for naught. And now, there was movement at the Gryffindor table.

"I, Neville Franck Longbottom, act proxy for the House of Hufflepuff, and support the request." Another strong glow. Neville stepped forward, and smiled.

"Welcome back Hermione."

Hermione nodded with a smile.

Anna stepped forward and raised her wand, trying to clear her mind and focus on the connection she could feel to the castle. The three others felt compelled to do the same and they felt the Castle's magic flowing through them and gathering around Voldemort, probing him, and the Dark Lord frown, annoyed at first, then concerned. Fear adorned his snake like features and soon, panic, when he had to drop his now burning wand.

"My Lord!" yelled Bellatrix Lestrange, launching herself towards the group with a curse on her lips.

Unfortunately for the Dark Lord's Lieutenant, she targeted Hermione and Dumbledore saw a woman step from the group of armed people who had gathered outside the hall, and yell "Don't touch my daughter, you bitch" before lodging a couple bullets in her chest. Voldemort barely noticed, for he was falling on his knees in great pain. The Founder's heirs lowered their wands.

"Thanks, Merlin"

Many looked at the Potions Teacher, who was slumped into his chair, his left sleeve pulled up, his Dark Mark fading away.

"That was rather anticlimactic." stated Harry.

Hermione scowled.

"You've got an unfinished job here, sweetheart," she said, taking his hand in hers.

"Yeah," he whispered, sliding his wand in his wrist holster.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle, son of Merope Gaunt, today ends the feud between our lines." he claimed, unsheathing the Dagger. Anna signalled him, mouthing "blood price". He nodded, adding: "For you paid the price in Magic and Blood." The former Dark Lord eyes widened and the Dagger almost flew by itself straight into his heart.

There was a long silence, and then a cheer rose from Gryffindor table where the Weasley twins were putting on a show. Harry whipped his wand and petrified them.

"George and Frederick Weasley, your behaviour since you set foot in this place was a shame. Under the facade of jokesters, you are nothing but sadists and greedy bullies, and I despise bullies more than Dark Lords. I was weak and naïve to lend you a thousand Galleons and let you have your way with them. This will be dealt by the Goblins, since I do not want to be associated with the both you whatsoever. For I was always welcomed by your family, and discarding the appalling behaviour of your younger brother, I will not declare a feud against the Weasleys"

"Harry, my boy..."

"Don't 'my boy' me Headmaster." cut Harry "You've been useless in this story. You gambled in a way that condemned me to sacrifice, but I could as well have joined Voldemort. I could have joined Voldemort if nothing had been left to me to fight for. I could have joined Voldemort if you had managed to take the woman I love from me. Ironic, no? I do remember the talk you gave me on the ability to love as my strength, and yet you tried to take Hermione from me. Fortunately, she was far stronger than you thought, and it's her love that saved us all."

He shook his head sadly, made a wide gesture to the Great Hall. "This place was the only place I remember feeling like home, and you took this from me this year."

He walked away, towards Gryffindor Tower.

"Miss Granger!" said Dumbledore genially "I'm so glad the news of your death was unfounded."

Hermione faked bewilderment. She looked at Anna, then at Neville, and said in a stage whisper : "He's worse than I remembered. Don't you Brits have retirement plans or shit? That would come handy for him..."

Neville shrugged.

"I thought so. And by the way, Headmaster, it's Special Agent Wilkins to you. Even if Magic has a thing for my former self, the Hermione Granger you knew is long gone, since your little trick last year. "

The whole Great Hall was silent. Echoes of spellfire came briefly from the courtyard, then silence again. A wizard – for he was holding a wand – in full SAS gear came in.

"Cleanup done, Wilkins. Seven dead, sixteen injured and eleven others in perfect condition. No casualties for us, couple scratches and lumps."

"Thanks, I guess we're done there. What about Malfoy Manor?"

"The Snake showed itself, but we saw it thrashing before busting in flames. The Tornadoes are on hold, shall we level the buildings?"

She shrugged. "Are you positive about the snake?"

"Yes Ma'am."

"So cancel the airstrike and let the wiz deal with the Manor. There might be interesting stuff in there, history wise."

She nodded towards the crowd and walked away, juggling with Dumbledore's wand. Her first genuine smile appeared when she caught sight of her father, casually leaning against a pillar with a sniper rifle in his hands. As she was coming closer, he grabbed the wand in mid-air before his daughter.

"Oh. It's none of yours" he said, handling the wand back. Hermione grabbed it and frowned. Her eyes widened in realisation and she began to laugh almost hysterically, to the point she had to sit down.

"What's so funny?"

Hermione stood up, and holding her father by the waist, began the tale:

"_There were once three brothers who were travelling along a lonely, winding road at twilight_..."

-x-

Packing had been quick, since he had all almost all his things in his trunk; dragging it to the seventh floor was easy after casting a featherlight charm, and after a last glance to the Tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy and his dancing trolls, Harry stepped though the Room of Requirement door into the Island. He reached the house after a quick walk and grabbed the emergency exit portkey, landing in a heap into a lobby of sorts. He noticed two armed guards and, remembering Hermione's instructions, kept his hands visible.

He was soon relieved when Hermione's boss entered the area, followed by a middle aged woman who held her hand, introducing herself:

"Hello, Mr Potter, I'm Soledad Garneros, welcome to America."

EPILOGUE. Nineteen Hours Later.

One of the perks of spending winter time in Scotland is that you can have the lie-in of your life, you will not be awoken at an ungodly hour by the sunlight.

And thus, the drawback of moving from Scotland to Utah in January was an earlier and brighter sunrise.

It took quite some time for Harry to get a grasp on the situation. He was lying in a bed. A _real_ bed, not a overly fluffy thing draped with heavy curtains. There was an orange cat purring near his feet. He almost cried with relief and cuddled against Hermione who was sleeping deeply.

When he woke up again, the sun was away from the bed. Hermione was facing him, awake.

"Good morning, Harry." she said with a peck on his lips.

"Good morning, Hermione. Well, I hope it is still morning"

"Yes, thanks to the Time Zones"

They enjoyed staying in each other's arms, then Hermione began to chuckle.

"What's funny?"

"Had you figured that Dumbledore's wand was the Elder Wand?"

"The Hallow?"

She nodded. "I realised when I disarmed him and caught the wand."

"So you are now the Master of the Elder Wand?"

She shook her head and replied: "I left the Great Hall playing with it, and my father stole it."

"And?"

Hermione chuckled again.

"Merlin'sPants. Is your father the True Master of the Elder Wand?"

She nodded.

"But he's a muggle!"

She nodded again.

"Can it work? I mean, it is supposed to choose a wizard? So if there's no magic in the wand's owner...what happened?"

"As far as I can tell, the wand core drained itself trying to connect with dad's. The Death Stick is just that, a harmless piece of wood."

Harry tightened his grip on Hermione's waist. They stayed this way for what seemed to be hours, without a word, contemplating the mere idea of a future. For once, he was allowed to think about a future, like an open sky, and he loved flying.

All would be well.

* * *

**Author notes** :

Here we are, SRW is now done. Sorry for the hectic schedule, real-life and muse betrayal and all. Some parting thoughts:

In this chapter is the ultimate explanation of the origins of the name "Weasley". Yet another time Paradox!

The **cliché** of the chapter was "Neville is Hufflepuff's heir", or something alike. Did I get it right with a cliché per chapter? Not sure...

I'm still **not very pleased** with this story, happy to have reached the end but disappointed by my lack of effort towards a better polishing, less plot holes and better characterisation, for the dead-ends (for instance, the stone Hermione founds in Monument Valley with a lightning bolt shaped glyph, all the Moab characters who disappear from the story), and all the easy tricks filling space. Then, I find myself a bit complacent on the "shoot first think later", make the story sound like bad NRA propaganda, and it's not my usual state of mind: even if I lived in Arizona where you can buy and carry concealed weapons like lollipops – all my American friends out there do – I would not because I just would not trust myself with firearms.

And last but not least, I must praise **Tommy** (Tumshie1960) who was kind enough to point out the many blunders, typos, capitalisation failures and all kind of frenchisms in the text. I learned that you cannot trust a spell/grammar checker very far. Nor your beliefs in your own skills.

On the **bright** side, when I went back to previous chapters, I found that some parts are _not so bad_, even pleasant to read so there might be hope at some point. So for those who where kind enough to add me to their Author Alerts, you might get some news from your faithful anytime soon.

Cheers, and **thank you** for reading this story!


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